


Reject Your Reality (and Substitute My Own)

by dapperanachronism, Robin_tCJ



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Background Winterhawk, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Bucky Barnes is Not Having It, Car Accidents, Child In Danger, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Grief/Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Idiots in Love, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutual Pining Shit Show, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Not a kid fic, Parent Tony Stark, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Threats of Violence, Trope Abuse, Tropes, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Sam Wilson, War Veteran Steve Rogers, if we tagged for everything it would spoil too much, not a coffee shop au, not everything is as it seems, past Tony Stark/Rumiko Fujikawa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 23:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 74,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperanachronism/pseuds/dapperanachronism, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ
Summary: Single parent Tony Stark’s son is the most important thing in the world to him – the ONLY important thing in the universe. A hipster Brooklyn coffee-shop owner & veteran doesn’t even rank on the list – even if he is hot and funny and kind.When he hears about the possibly-high-traffic-and-therefore-dangerous coffee shop moving in next door to Casey’s preschool, he does the only sensible thing he can think of – he confronts the owner and tries to convince him to open his shop elsewhere.Of course, Steve Rogers is stubborn as hell, and it turns out he can make a mean cup of coffee.It sounds like an ordinary kid-fic coffee shop AU, but look a little closer and nothing is quite what it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Reject Your Reality (and Substitute My Own) 你与我的真实](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20309191) by [Gravityxxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gravityxxx/pseuds/Gravityxxx)



> This started as a stupid idea – “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I wrote a fic that just had EVERY SINGLE trope in it? Just all of them in one fic?”
> 
> Then the idea got a little better: “What if we TOOK IT SERIOUSLY and also WROTE IT TOGETHER?”
> 
> It snowballed from there. Now we have a 70,000 word not-a-coffeeshop-AU kidfic. It sounds like an ordinary coffee shop AU but it’s really not. 
> 
> Mostly an MCU AU but we took little morsels of comics canon like it was sample day at Costco. You don’t need to know comics to get it, we promise.
> 
> Warning for canon-compliant off screen minor character death.
> 
> This fic is not at all canon-compliant until it is, and then it veers off again because this is OUR sandbox.
> 
> We had THE MOST AMAZING artist join us in this journey. We almost felt like we took advantage of the fact that it’s cachette’s first Big Bang and when she offered to draw these amazing illustrations for almost every chapter we just nodded and grinned. So then she DID it and they were gorgeous and we can’t stop looking at them. 
> 
> The art is CHOCK FULL OF SPOILERS, but once you’ve read the fic you should [Go heap tons of love on her and her work here on tumblr ](https://acachette.tumblr.com/post/180531644245/) and [Here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761130). If you’re reading this on desktop you’ll find images embedded throughout the story as we go. We’ll also post chapter-specific illustrations (i.e. all of them) at the bottom of each chapter so you can click a link if you’ve downloaded to mobile.
> 
> Finally, a huge thank you goes out to [morphia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphia/pseuds/morphia) for her work as our beta. She gave us a much needed extra set of eyes to lend us some objectivity, and to help us keep the continuity in order.
> 
> Please also keep in mind there may be spoilers in the comments, and you’re best served reading this fic without said spoilers!

**_May_ **

"What the ever loving fuck?" Tony swears, stopping short in front of the empty building. The empty building that now has contractors going in and out of it. The empty building with contractors going in and out of it, and a large sign proclaiming it the future home of a coffee shop called 'Brewed Awakening'. Tony hates it already.

"You said a bad!" comes a shocked voice beside him, and Tony feels the tiny hand in his tighten.

Tony winces. "Yeah, I did. Oops."

"You gotta put a quarter in the jar," the child informs him solemnly. Tony sighs, but nods his head in agreement.

"I will. This afternoon, when we get home, yeah? You can watch me." This seems good enough for the boy and he happily drags Tony down the block to the preschool next door. All the while, Tony glances back over his shoulder at the home of the soon-to-be-swarming-with-people coffee shop that is daring to set itself up in his quiet residential neighbourhood, right next to his son's goddamned preschool.

To be clear, it isn't the presence of the shop that upset him — far from it. The neighbourhood has an alarming deficit of establishments to get caffeine. It's the _location_ that's got him riled up. Right next door to his son's _school_. And by the looks of it, they're going to be putting in a large patio. Honestly, it's like they _want_ to have people come in, and sit, and linger. It's like they _want_ a ton of strangers coming and going and loitering within a hundred yards of his son's school. How's he supposed to keep his son safe like this? Sure, the teachers are the best, they're diligent, but Tony can't take any chances. Not where his son's safety is concerned.

"Good morning Mr. Stark, good morning Casey," calls a friendly voice.

"Good morning Miss Julie," Casey says and lets go of Tony's hand, bounding happily up the walkway to greet his teacher, Julie Summerside. Tony follows a few steps behind, watching the easy interaction between Julie and Casey. She's really good with the kids— everyone here is. It's why he chose this place, after all. He wants what's best for his boy, and this place – this neighbourhood – is the best. Or it was until he had to deal with the threat of increased foot traffic and strangers stomping around next to his school because of a cutesy-named coffee shop. God, this is such bullshit.

"Is everything okay Mr. Stark?" Julie says, snapping his thoughts back to the moment. Casey's gone off to play on the little playground set up in the wide, fenced off yard, laughing as he flings himself down the slide. Tony smiles. It's pretty hard to be upset with Casey around. He turns his attention back to the teacher.

"Tony, please," he corrects her. "Did you know about this?" He nods his head over to the under-construction building. Julie smiles at him, obviously unaware of the catastrophic inevitabilities that 'Brewed Awakening' will have on the neighbourhood.

"Oh, yeah, the new coffee shop. We actually got a little flyer in the mail about it. This is apparently their second location – they've got one in Brooklyn already."

Oh, god, it's worse than Tony had originally thought. It's a _hipster_ coffee shop.

He had moved to this neighbourhood on the upper east side specifically so that Casey could go to this preschool. He had done his research – he'd looked at every preschool in the city before he'd settled on Trinity Children's Centre. TCC had the best ratio of positive parent anecdotes and high testing scores. It's not even the most exclusive preschool in the city, and Tony doesn't care. He'd never _wanted_ Casey to grow up like he had – with a silver spoon shoved so far down his throat that he choked on it when he hit his rebellious teenage years.

Of course, Tony's genius intelligence meant an accelerated education, meaning his rebellious teenage years had come earlier than most. He'd been quietly shuffled off to rehab by the time he was 14, he'd gotten his drinking and drug use under what he had referred to, at the time, as 'under control', and managed his first degree by age 19. His parents had died when he'd been 20, and at 21, he'd signed away all rights to Stark Industries to Obadiah Stane, his father's former second-in command. He'd continued to skip on and off the rails for the next 10 years, partying and taking drugs and not caring about anything but the next time he could get high, and then had eventually watched, horrified, as Stane had not only run the company into the ground, but gotten it mostly torn apart by the FBI and the SEC when it came to light that he'd been bringing in a lot of money on the side by selling weapons on the black market.

Found guilty of treason, tax evasion, and trafficking, Stane wouldn't be seeing the light of day from outside prison walls any time soon.

Tony, meanwhile, had watched Stark Industries crash and burn, and did his best to drink away the guilt of letting his family's legacy become a stain on the history books.

Years of indiscriminate casual sex with both men and women had ended the moment he'd met Rumiko. Rumiko had been the daughter of a business magnate in Japan, and she had, inexplicably, fallen as madly in love with Tony as he had with her. He quit drinking, quit doing drugs, quit partying. In short, he got his shit together.

Their whirlwind romance led to a marriage ceremony within eight months, and together they had started a company of their own – Stark Resilient.

They hadn't intended to have children, of course. They'd both been more concerned with their careers, with bringing Stark Resilient into the spotlight, with investors and research and development and networking. But they'd been careless enough to think they were untouchable, and gotten pregnant because of it.

Tony hadn't been excited about it, at first. In fact, all he could think about was what a terrible father Howard Stark had been, and how he was destined to follow in his father's footsteps and mess up his child for life.

Rumiko had been joyful right off the bat – she hadn't _wanted_ children, but this child, the one growing inside her, was precious and perfect and a dream come true.

It had been a difficult pregnancy. Severe morning sickness, wildly low blood pressure, the whole nine yards. In the end, she began hemorrhaging when she went into labour, and the doctors had to perform a C-section to save the baby.

They hadn't been able to save Ru.

Buried deeply by grief, Tony had wanted to die, too. He'd wanted the earth to swallow him whole, wanted to trade the infant for his wife, had blamed himself for carelessly getting her pregnant in the first place. He'd been angry, so angry, and then he'd seen the baby,, and he had looked down into the face of his son, _his son_ , and he had fallen more deeply in love than he'd ever thought possible.

He had a _son_.

He still misses Ru, of course, but he'd made a promise to her, as he'd held that tiny, undersized boy in his arms. He would protect Casey with his life. Nothing mattered except Casey.

Even now, as Stark Resilient is becoming a household name, Tony comes in late to make sure he can drop Casey off at preschool. He leaves early so he can pick Casey up. He'd found them a penthouse just a couple of blocks away so that they'd be close. More often than not, Tony tries to work from home after Casey gets out of school, conferencing in with his staff. He's only just recently begun the hunt for a nanny, as the business gets more and more intense.

He's been searching for a qualified nanny for six months. No one is right for the job – they're good with childcare, but not with making sure Casey is _safe_. He can't hire just anyone. He needs to make sure Casey is in _good hands_.

Casey's safety is the only thing that matters, and Tony can't keep his son safe from the countless dangers of the world if Casey is going to be surrounded by the crowds resulting from a _hipster coffee shop_ beside his school.

"Mr. Stark? Tony?" Julie says, regaining his attention. She's looking at him bemusedly, and Tony realizes he hasn't responded.

"Don't suppose there was contact info on that flyer?" Tony asks hopefully. He needs to track this hipster coffee shop owner down, he needs to make this whole thing go away. No hipster coffee shop with an open patio, no nondescript strangers sitting at a table all day drinking coffee and watching his son's school. None of it. It's completely unacceptable.

"Sorry," Julie says with an apologetic shake of her head. "Didn't even have a name on it."

"That's fine," Tony says, mustering up a charming smile for her. "I'll let you get back to the kids."

"Alright," she says, lips twitching. "I'll see you at pick-up, then."

She turns and walks away, and Tony glances around the playground, looking for Casey. His chest relaxes as soon as Tony spots him. Glossy, thick hair, darker than his own, hanging down in Casey's face because he's overdue for a haircut. Dark eyes, wide grin, missing tooth. Casey notices Tony watching him, and runs over, crashing into Tony's legs with an 'oof'.

"Hey, kiddo, you have a good day, okay?" Tony says, going down to one knee so he can give Casey a tight hug.

Casey's little arms wind around his neck to return the embrace, and he plants a sloppy kiss on Tony's cheek before he turns around and runs back to his friends, one arm waving in the air as he calls back, "Bye, Daddy!"

Tony dreads the day that Casey decides he's too old to hug and kiss his father goodbye.

He watches Casey play with his friends for another moment before he heads off in the direction of the office. Another strategic placement, Stark Resilient's corporate offices are only a few more blocks down the street, and most days Tony walks back and forth from the preschool. So far, he's managed to only walk down the street a few times during lunch to make sure everything is okay at the school, though he'd never admit it to anyone.

As he walks toward the office, he already has his phone out, searching for more information on Brewed Awakening. He's going to find a way to nip this whole thing in the bud.

 

+++++

 

Tony spends half the day hacking into the city zoning office servers to get ahold of blueprints, permits, anything he can get his hands on to try and find some cut construction corners or regulations that would keep Brewed Awakening from opening their new location. There's nothing – everything is on the up and up, so far. All the permits have been filed correctly, the location is correctly zoned for food and drink establishment, the bastards had even sent out that memo to all their neighbours on the block.

Renovation of the existing space is set to be completed in two weeks' time, according to the development permits. Which means Tony has two weeks to convince them they've chosen a terrible location, and that they should back out of their expansion plan.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks up the business itself.

They don't have their own website, but they do have a Facebook page. Tony browses it – mostly, it's photos of coffee and pastries. The latte art is impressive – Tony's not sure he's ever seen such skill. Every few days, there's a ridiculous meme about coffee, or some sort of pun, and it makes Tony want to grind his teeth.

But each post has impressive reach. Whoever their social media consultant is, they're good at what they do. The problem is that, the more reach and social media success Brewed Awakening gets, the more people will be around to pose a threat to Casey.

He sits down and types out a list on his tablet, trying to come up with reasons why the owners of Brewed Awakening might want to alter their plans. By the time he's come up with what he thinks are bulletproof arguments, it's time to pick Casey up from school. Tony leaves the office and walks down the street, a solid 20 minutes early, of course. He stands outside the gate of the property, watching the traffic and pedestrians while he waits. He spends some time staring at the empty building next door. The contractors are still busily working away – Tony's not sure what the space used to be, but clearly it hadn't been set up as an eatery of any kind. The contractors are having to install the counter, build a kitchen, the whole nine yards.

He decides that if he has any hope of convincing the owners of Brewed Awakening to change their plans, he'd better work fast – the further those contractors get, the lower the chances they'll back out of the location.

He turns to look back at Casey's school, and he doesn't have to fake the wide grin that graces his face when Casey bursts out the school doors, running toward him and happily shouting about all the cool things they'd done today in class.

Tony kneels down to catch him, wrapping his arms tightly around his child and breathing in the smell of him.

He'll do whatever it takes to keep Casey safe.

 

+++++

 

Because Tony had spent the better part of his day looking into the city's zoning office and one ridiculously-named coffee shop, he hadn't done much actual work for Stark Resilient. He ignores it as long as he can; he plays with Casey, makes dinner – he's not a great cook, but the food he makes them is nutritious and edible, and most days Casey doesn't even whine and ask for Mac N' Cheese. He could certainly afford a personal chef to do the meal preparation for them, but he thinks Ru would have wanted him to do the cooking, if she couldn't do it herself. Hiring a chef just seemed too impersonal.

Besides, who's to say he could trust a personal chef to be as diligent about Casey's health and nutrition needs as he is?

They eat dinner, and then it's time for Casey's bath. They play in the tub for a while, with Casey making use of the brightly coloured bath crayons. Casey uses shampoo to turn his glossy hair into a ridiculous mohawk, giggling and squealing happily, and Tony really, _really_ loves this kid.

He reads Casey a couple of books before bed – he always tells the kid he'll read him just the one, but Casey normally manages to wheedle two more out of him before lights out. Tony doesn't mind – he loves this part of the day, when it's just the two of them. Casey is curled into Tony's side in his little race car bed, blinking sleepily as Tony reads to him. Casey is out halfway through the fourth book.

Tony stays right where he is for a while, watching Casey's breath even out, his little eyelashes flutter and twitch as he falls deeper and deeper into sleep.

Finally, when Tony definitely hasn't had his fill but knows he has to stop staring at the boy and get some work done, he carefully extricates himself from Casey's wiry limbs, and silently leaves the room, closing the door half way.

Tony runs a hand through his hair, then scrubs it over his face tiredly. It's only 7:30, he shouldn't be this tired. But he's got seven nanny resumes to go through and a full day's worth of Stark Resilient work to finish. He _needs_ to get this nanny situation sorted out, Casey will be out of school for the summer in less than two months.

He works on the Stark Resilient stuff first – not because it's a higher priority, even though, technically, it probably is. More because the thought of leaving Casey in someone else's care for the better part of every weekday has his heart clenching painfully in his chest.

He probably shouldn't be this dependent on the kid, he knows. But Casey is his _son_. He's the only link Tony has to Rumiko, and he's the most important thing in Tony's entire world. He _is_ Tony's world. The idea of someone else getting to have all the hours of Casey's day, his giggles and his smiles and his hugs, is like a knife in Tony's gut.

But he has to do it, because Rumiko had cared about Stark Resilient so much. Her dream had been for the company to revolutionize the world's energy industry, putting an end to carbon emissions, non-renewable resources, all of it.

If Casey is the most important thing in Tony's world, Stark Resilient comes in second. Ru would want him to make sure it succeeds in all the things she'd wanted for it. For _them_.

He works on business for a few hours, and then he moves on to the resumes. He throws the first five out immediately – nothing special, no reason to believe they could protect Casey from any threats, real or imagined. There are two that look interesting, though, so he pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a second look. Then he does a little background research on them to help him make a decision.

He realizes he's a little wired from the coffee, so he cues his tablet up to the NannyCam app he'd created, and watches the feed from Casey's room for a few minutes, as Casey sleeps. He's still, but Tony can see the rise and fall of his little pyjama-clad chest. He knows he's got a soft smile on his face, and he knows he's a ridiculously sappy dope, but he doesn't care.

He takes the tablet with him and hits the workshop. He'll do a little bit of work here while he waits for the caffeine to work its way out of his system, he decides.

But as soon as his attention hits the project he's been working on, he loses all sense of time. He checks the NannyCam feed from time to time, and Casey is still fast asleep, so Tony keeps working away.

It's four in the morning before he realizes he should have gone to bed hours ago.

It's not his first sleepless night, and it won't be his last. He makes his way to his bedroom, and flops onto his bed fully clothed, face mashed into the pillow, and falls asleep almost instantly.

The alarm wakes him at 6:30, and more than anything in the world, he wants to throw it out the window.

But he doesn't – he has to get up, get Casey's lunch packed, and make breakfast before Casey goes to school. Then he has to make his way to Brooklyn and be as charming as possible to persuade Brewed Awakening to change their mind about their new location.

He'll sleep later. Probably.

 

+++++

 

Tony finds himself in Brooklyn later that day, after a couple of hours put in at the office for appearances. The coffee shop is disgustingly nice. It's all clean, modern lines and warm, rich textiles. There's free wifi, half-price refills, and Tony can smell the from-scratch pastries as soon as he walks in the door. The shop is busy, but everyone is chatting at a quiet level, making the whole space seem intimate and homey.

It's awful and Tony _hates_ it.

He strolls up to the counter, hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels as he waits in the horribly patient line of customers. There's a haggard-looking guy running the register, his longish brown hair tied up in a hipster man-bun and his left arm hanging somewhat limply by his side. His smile is bright and warm and Tony wants to smack it off his face.

There's an even better-looking guy actually making the drinks and putting together the orders. He's fast and accurate, and Tony sneaks a peek at each and every cup put on the pick-up counter, and all the names look like the correct spelling of the actual names that the customers had given with their order. Each latte is done up with a deceptively fast, beautiful piece of latte art.

The coffee-making barista is huge, tall and broad and blonde. His waist is tiny – he looks positively triangular. When he hands people their drinks or their pastries he gives them a plush, pink-lipped smile that Tony thinks is pure sin. He looks somehow wholesome, but at the same time Tony can imagine him looking debauched and well-fucked, laying across a satin-sheeted bed.

_Where the fuck did that come from?_

Tony hasn't thought about anyone in a sexual way since Rumiko died – since Casey was born. To feel desire for some barista in a coffee shop owned by Tony's newest arch nemesis? It would be underselling it to call it 'unexpected'.

When Tony gets to the front of the line, Man-bun aims that thousand-watt grin at him. "Hey there, what can I getcha?" he asks.

"I'd like to speak to the owner, actually, is there a way I can get in touch with him?" Tony replies, proud of how detached and not-at-all invested he sounds.

Man-bun raises an eyebrow, then his eyes flick to Hunka Burnin' Lover over beside him.

"Can I ask you what you want with the owner of this fine, upstanding establishment?" Man-bun asks, mouth twisting.

"I'd like to speak to him about his development in the upper east side."

"Oh, that, sure," says Man-bun, turning to Hunka. "Stevie, you got an admirer. I was the manager yesterday, today is your turn."

Hunka – Stevie? – rolls his eyes at Man-bun and turns his ridiculous knee-weakening smile in Tony's direction. "Hi there," he says, voice warm and rumbling and honey-smooth. "What can I do for you?"

Tony is so, so proud of himself when his answer _isn't_ 'unzip your pants and let me suck your dick right here'. He's on a _mission_. He has a _goal_.

"I'd like to talk to you about your new coffee shop on East 67th," Tony says, trying to put as much gravitas in his tone as possible.

"Oh, yeah! We're expanding! We're pretty excited about it – I wanted to be a little closer to the MoMA, but you take what you can get with real estate, am I right?"

Tony blinks at Hunka-Stevie. What?

"Yeah, right, listen, you're gonna have to move it," Tony says, shaking his head a little.

Hunka-Stevie stares at him with confusion. "What do you mean, move it?"

"Well, it's not really the kind of thing we want in that neighbourhood," Tony tells him. "You understand."

"Uh… I really don't. Buck, you got the counter for a sec?" Hunka-Stevie turns to Man-bun, but he's already untying his apron from around his waist as he speaks. Man-bun rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath.

"Sure, Steve, I got a bum arm and we got a line-up to the door but no, by all means, take a little break to talk to the crazy person," Man-bun grumbles.

Hunka-Stevie – Steve, Tony reminds himself, because he is observant and paying attention to more than the man's pecs as he reaches around to his back to deal with the apron – walks out from around the display case full of pastries and motions for Tony to follow him. Tony really does not want to follow him because if there's one thing he knows, it's the value of a strong negotiating position. On the other hand, this is giving him a chance to get a look at Steve's ass and that's an opportunity Tony is glad not to miss.

Steve actually leads Tony outside onto the sidewalk, and for a moment Tony actually has a sharp stab of fear – this guy is _way_ bigger than him, and if Steve wants to beat the shit out of him on the sidewalk for what Tony thinks is a _completely_ reasonable request, there's not a lot Tony can do to stop him.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest (which makes his biceps bulge somehow even more ridiculously) and blinks at Tony.

"Alright, then, sir, what's this about?" he says.

Tony blinks, not expecting to have been called 'sir'. Well, maybe there's a chance to salvage this negotiation after all.

Tony sticks out his right hand, giving Steve his best thousand-watt publicity grin. "Tony Stark," he says, finally introducing himself, "of Stark Resilient."

"Steve Rogers," says Steve, uncrossing his arms to clasp Tony's hand. He has a good, solid grip, but Tony purposefully keeps control of the handshake. "Of Brewed Awakening."

"So like I was saying," Tony says, resisting the urge to slip his hands into his pockets because if this guy throws a punch, Tony should probably be ready for it, "you're going to have to find a different location for your coffee shop."

"I checked with the zoning office, that's a residential commercial zone," Rogers says, brow furrowed. "I didn't have any trouble with my permits."

"No, that's – it's not that, it's that the neighbourhood isn't, you know, a good fit for you."

"Excuse me?" Rogers' eyes take on a sparking, stormy blue.

"It's just, you know, a really nice, quiet family neighbourhood, and we just don't think that –"

"Ex _cuse_ me?" Rogers is starting to look really angry now, his jaw twitching and clenching.

"Look, man, I like coffee as much as the next guy – actually, okay, I may have a slightly uncontrolled addiction to coffee but that's neither here nor there – but we just don't want that kind of –"

"Okay, look, pal," Rogers says, and suddenly Tony feels like the man is eight feet taller than him, glaring down at him in indignation. "I don't know who you think you are that you can tell me where I can or cannot set up my coffee shop, but if you think I'm just going to let you – let you discriminate against me because of my sexuality, and keep the homos out of your _quiet family neighbourhood_ , we're going to have a problem –"

" _WHOA_." Tony's eyes pop wide, and he puts his hands up immediately in a placating gesture, shaking his head forcefully. "No! No, no, no way, that's not – fuck, no, sorry, that's _not_ why," Tony says, cheeks heating furiously. "I don't care if you – I'm a little – it's about the _traffic._ "

"What?"

"The _foot traffic_ ," Tony says, backpedalling for all he's worth. "All the people! You're right next to a _preschool_ , for god's sake, and do you know how many people congregate around coffee shops?" He's feeling a little hysterical right now because _whoa_ , that is definitely not what he wanted this very large, very big (very attractive gay) man to think he was saying.

Rogers blinks at him and glances over his shoulder at – oh, yeah – the busy coffee shop they're standing in front of. "Yes."

"Right!" Tony says, knowing he's lost the high ground. "So, I mean, preschoolers don't drink coffee, and there's basically nothing else there that –"

"Isn't Stark Resilient just up the street?"

Tony aggressively ignores rush of pride at the fact that Rogers knows about his company _and_ where they're located because he has to _focus_ here. "Sure, but, I mean, we don't drink coffee."

"Didn't you just say you drink a lot of coffee?" Rogers' face is starting to switch from the angry self-righteousness of earlier to mild amusement.

"I did, didn't I? Doesn't really seem like it right now though, let me tell you." Tony shakes his head to clear it. "But there's a coffee cart a couple blocks up from _us_ , so we don't need a coffee shop."

"Ours is better," Rogers shrugs.

"How can you possibly –" Tony splutters.

"It's definitely better. Anyway, Mr. Stark, it was nice to meet you," Rogers says, and now his tone is pure dismissal. "I've got to get back to the counter, we're about to see the mid-afternoon pick-me-up rush. I'm sure I'll see you around the neighbourhood."

Just like that, Rogers slips back into the coffee shop, leaving Tony on the sidewalk feeling very much like he's lost this round.

And badly in need of a coffee.

 

+++++

 

Tony's little sojourn out to Brooklyn means that he has to stay up even later to catch up on Stark Resilient work after Casey's in bed sleeping. He falls asleep on the couch with his tablet in his lap at around five. He gets Casey off to school, glaring daggers at the renovations at Brewed Awakening Jr., then drags himself to his office. He deals with a few shareholder memos he'd rather not deal with, looks over fourth-quarter projections to put himself in a better mood, then starts working on some of the _very_ thorough background checks he'd started on the (very) short list of possible nanny candidates. Casey will be done school in just a few weeks – Tony doesn't have much time to waste.

When he's done with the background checks on the two candidates he kept – for which he definitely didn't use any questionable computer remote-access skills he may or may not possess – he decides to send an email to the first one, if only because she's got recommendations from two separate high-profile private security firms and a masters degree in early childhood education. He's not sure what kind of person has that kind of disparate experience, but whoever she is, he wants to meet her.

By the time he finishes, he's feeling a bit better about things over all, even though he can feel fatigue tugging behind his eyes, and he could definitely use a cup of coffee. He pours himself one, but grimaces at the first sip. His beautiful caffeinated nectar of life, and all its would-be delicious taste is doing is reminding him of this other impending crisis he has yet to solve.

Asking nicely didn't work, so it's time to move on to plan B.

He's already familiar with available commercial real estate in the neighbourhood, so it's blessedly easy for him to pull up a shortlist of viable locations. One of them even already has a half kitchen built into it, so renovating would be easy. He keeps half an eye on all of his incoming e-mails as he throws together a portfolio of proposal overviews, highlighting the pros of each place. He can conduct multi million dollar business negotiations in his sleep, surely he should be able to sell a coffee shop owner on the benefits of one of these alternate locations.

He closes up the files, and by the time he's got them ready, there is a response from the nanny applicant sitting in his inbox. The promptness of her reply is another point in her favour. God, he really hopes she is a good fit. He can't bear the idea of having to start the search all over again. He was lucky enough that the school was willing to take Casey on for the last couple of months of this year after the move, even though technically Casey isn't old enough yet. But the school just simply isn't an option for the summer.

Thinking about the school reminds him to check the clock, and he finds it's nearly time for him to make his way over there again to pick Casey up. He quickly sends an e-mail off to the prospective nanny confirming an interview time for the following day — early afternoon, so he has time to bring his new proposal out out to Brooklyn first thing in the morning — and packs up to head out, a small smile on his face and a light bounce in his step as he leaves the building for the day.

 

+++++

 

The morning does not start off well. His sleep is broken, and he wakes with a start from a dream that he can't quite remember, but that leaves him feeling out of sorts, a little disconnected, and unsettled. It gets worse when he goes to make breakfast and discovers that he forgot to stop at the store last night, so he's completely out of coffee at home, and there isn't a drop of milk to be found. Casey valiantly puts up with eating toast and peanut butter when he really wanted cereal, but his little face still looks disappointed. Tony feels a bit like a failure.

He feels even more like a failure when he drops Casey off at school, and instead of running off to play after giving Tony his customary hug and kiss goodbye, he stays and looks up at his dad seriously.

"Are you okay, Daddy?" He asks. Tony's heart twists. His kid shouldn't be worrying about _him_. Pull it together, Stark.

"Couldn't be better," Tony replies.

Casey squints at him. "You promise?"

"I promise," Tony assures him, kissing the top of his head.

This seems to satisfy Casey, who hugs his father one more time and runs off giggling.

By the time Tony gets out to Brooklyn, he's in a truly shit mood. It probably would have been smart to delay what's about to come next, but he's running out of time. The core of the renovations have wrapped up and they're working on details, paint and interior now. He's got to get the shop moved before they start loading stuff into the new space, or he's not going to have a chance of succeeding.

The shop is empty inside when he arrives — thank god for small mercies. The few patrons at the establishment are sitting outside, enjoying the early summer sun and _Steve_ is standing behind the counter, his back to Tony, talking quietly to Man-bun and looking every bit as gorgeous as he had the last time that Tony had seen him. Of course, Man-bun spots him first. Tony sees the instant it happens, because the guy's eyes narrow and shift to stare directly at him. Steve stops whatever he's saying mid-sentence and turns around to greet him.

"Mr. Stark. How lovely of you to stop by again," Steve says, pleasant and nonchalant. Tony would absolutely love to wipe that stupid smile off his stupid face, preferably with his own face, but he's got bigger problems to deal with.

"I have a proposition for you," Tony announces without preamble, sauntering up to the counter and dropping the folder down in front of him. Steve's eyes pinch a little in the corners in a hint of a tell, but he stays smiling and polite. "Hear me out," he continues before Steve can object.

"Here we go again," Man-bun mutters, turning away towards the other end of the work space to go stand by where another employee – another blonde guy, though maybe not as tall and jacked – is standing. Tony ignores them both and flips over the folder.

"I figured we could compromise, so I did some research, and I think I've found a couple of other locations nearby in the neighbourhood that would be great."

"Your idea of compromise is you getting your way and us moving?" Steve says flatly. Tony waves him off and pushes on.

"There's this one, it's a few blocks north, but it's a great corner location –"

"It's too small, and it won't accommodate the layout that I need. I looked at it." Steve cuts him off before he can finish, but Tony isn't dissuaded. It _was_ a bit small, but how much space does a coffee shop really need, anyway? He pulls the next file open.

"Okay, but this one, there's lots of space, great natural light, it's just on the other side of the Stark Resilient building, close to a main intersection so lots of foot traffic."

Steve shakes his head. "The wiring is outdated, the wires themselves are old and degrading, and the current set up doesn't have any capacity for the 220. I'd have to quite literally rip out and redo everything in the walls. The walls which, incidentally, given the age of the building, are full of asbestos, so once they're open, I'd have to deal with the abatement before I could even consider the electrical issue."

"Okay, but what about –"

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do," Steve says in a tone that suggests he very much does _not_ appreciate what Tony is trying to do, "but we have done our research. We considered a _lot_ of different spaces before deciding on the one that we did. We considered a number of locations, we did the market research, we have the neighbourhoods stats, we chose that location specifically because it's what we need, and we think we can provide a service that will help the neighbourhood. You said yourself, there is no place nearby for coffee, and it's a lively, vibrant neighbourhood. We're giving people a place to come together. We want to be a part of the community. "

"Look I get that, I think that's great, totally. I'm jazzed. But I need you to do all of that somewhere that _isn't_ right beside my son's school –"

"Mr. Stark, I understand your concern –"

"– because I seriously cannot deal with that on top of everything else right now, okay?" He barrels forward, completely ignoring Steve. "I am up to my neck in R&D for a new initiative that needs to be ready to present to the shareholders in a few weeks which is _bullshit_ because I fucking told them the timeline was unreasonable, and I have bigger shit to worry about. Because school lets out in a couple of weeks and I've been spending the time I should be spending asleep catching up on new projects and looking for childcare, and I cannot for the life of me find someone qualified to watch Casey. I mean, how hard is it? I'm not asking much. All I want is someone who, you know, is competent and trustworthy, and can actually keep my son safe, but I'd have an easier time getting the moon than getting an actual, decent nanny. So look, I know you're just trying to run a business and do good or whatever the hell else you're trying to do. But you need to do it somewhere else. Because this? Worrying about this? I literally –" he instinctively takes a sip of coffee from the cup that's just magically appeared in his hand, and his eyes widen. "– Holy shit. What. Is. This."

"It's coffee," Steve responds flatly.

"No. It's not," Tony objects, taking another gulp, not caring that it burns his mouth a little. "Coffee is great. This is _ambrosia._ "

Steve shrugs with forced casualness. "I know coffee."

"You know witchcraft," Tony corrects. "I swear to god this is the best fucking coffee I have ever had in my life and I need more of it in my face."

Steve takes the cup back, and Tony only relents because Steve has a coffee pot in his hand to top it off before handing it back. He's still clinging onto the cup like his life depends on it while Steve guides Tony to one of the small tables and sits him down. He can't bring himself to care, because this coffee is restoring his soul.

"So you've got a lot on your plate," Steve says, sitting across from him with a cup of his own.

"You have no idea," Tony mutters.

"Well, I kind of actually do, now."

Yeah, okay, Steve might have a point, what with the way that Tony just unloaded on him like that. He's not sorry, but he'd apologise if it got him more of this coffee. And more of Steve's attention – which, no amount of perfect caffeine can fully distract him from the way Steve's intense blue eyes are totally focused on him.

"You're really just worried about your son?" Steve asks.

Tony half nods, half shrugs. "I mean, it's not unreasonable. Kids get scooped from busy places all the time. I just. Look, I don't care if it _is_ unreasonable. I'm not taking chances. It's nothing personal."

"Well," Steve said thoughtfully. "Would it help to know that the three guys running this place are all former combat veterans?"

Tony snorts at that, half in disbelief, because what are the odds? But he looks up at Steve and glances over his shoulder to where Man-bun and the attractive-but-not-as-attractive-as-Steve blond are still standing behind the counter, watching them without bothering to hide that they're watching.

"Captain Steve Rogers," Steve continues with a wry smile. "Bucky, Clint and I served together. Long story short, we got out at the same time, needed something to do. So we opened the shop."

"Oh my god… you're actually serious?" Tony says in disbelief.

Steve nods. "I'm serious. So if security and sketchy kidnappers skulking around is what you're worried about, trust me when I say, we have better security than any other establishment would have. And, we have the best coffee. Just think about how nice it'll be in the autumn to drop your son off to school and get a cup of the best coffee in the city in one stop."

"Okay, now that's just manipulative. But, also it sounds somewhat acceptable," Tony admits, against his better judgement. "And… I do feel a _little_ better knowing you're not just a random civilian."

" _You're_ just a random civilian, you know," Steve points out, lips ticking up in a smirk, but Tony waves him off.

"Fine, fine. I won't fight. I'll give it a shot. But," he stands from the table and grabs the cup and his bag. "If the coffee in Manhattan isn't as good as it is here, I will bury you in a mountain of legal paperwork so deep, you will never again see the light of day."

With that, he turns and walks out of the shop. He can still hear Steve's musical chuckle as the door swings shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4844/31101925237_0f795311f8_b.jpg).


	2. Chapter 2

**_May_ **

"Cap, you done making googly eyes over the crazy rich guy now, or do you need another minute?" Clint asks, snickering as he walks by where Steve is still sitting. Clint moves to bus a nearby table, and Steve realizes he's been staring at the door since Tony Stark left several minutes ago.

"Sorry, just thinking," Steve says, standing and taking his coffee back to the counter. They've still got another hour or so before the real midday rush starts, but they've also got to get about 50 sandwiches prepped before then, so he doesn't have a lot of time to sit around thinking about the strange man who's just left.

And Tony Stark _is_ strange. He's strange, and that's all Steve thinks about him. He certainly doesn't have any thoughts or opinions on Tony's gorgeous, sparkling brown eyes or way the skin around them crinkles when he smiles and sags when he's tired. Steve didn't even _notice_ the graceful fluidity of Tony's movements, the way he talked with his hands. The way his fingers flexed and stretched to underscore his words. And above all, Steve determinedly did not see the way Tony's suit pants hugged the remarkably tempting curve of his ass.

Nope. Not even a little.

But if he _had_ noticed any of those things, Steve probably would consider the fact that he doesn't think he's seen a rear end on a fella like that his whole life, and he wonders how plump and firm and – nope, he didn't notice at all because the guy has a _kid_ , that was the whole reason they'd even _met_ , and he's Tony _Stark_. As in Stark Resilient. As in Forbes' most talked-about 'up and coming' tech company in a generation. Steve is just a broken-down vet with a case of PTSD who's recently mortgaged his stupid little coffee shop to expand it into _two_ stupid little coffee shops with his two also-broken-down-vet best friends. A lot of people are well out of Steve's league, and he thinks Tony might be at the very top of the pyramid. Even if he's _not_ 100 per cent completely straight.

Steve heads back to the kitchen, leaving Clint and Bucky to give each other knowing looks up front in peace. He knows what they're thinking – and yeah, it's been a while since Steve's had any interest in anyone, but they don't need to make a big deal out of it. Besides, Steve's _not_ interested. He'd just _noticed_ Tony. And that was only because it was really hard to _not_ notice Tony.

Except he hadn't noticed anything, dammit, and there's nothing to notice.

He washes his hands and gets to work, slathering pesto over slices of bread to assemble paninis for the lunch special. They'll grill them to order, of course, but the only way they'll be able to keep up with the volume is if they have them prepped to start. Besides – back here, he doesn't have to watch Clint and Bucky snicker about him 'behind his back', and he can let his mind wander. And if, from time to time, his mind repeatedly wanders to the obscenely sexual sound Tony had made at his first sip of Steve's coffee, well, no one has to know that but him.

 

+++++

 

By mid-afternoon, Steve is exhausted. Luckily, he and Bucky had taken the busier first shift of the day, so they're done around two – Clint will close up later in the afternoon.

Bucky's off to physio for the nerve damage in his arm, and Steve's headed uptown to the new location. They hired contractors for the main stuff, but now that it's finishing work like paint and flooring, they're doing some of the work themselves to save money.

Steve doesn't mind it so much. He likes working with his hands, and with the bustle of the coffee shop, sometimes being able to work alone like this is a nice break. It gives him time to think, to plan.

And, he thinks dazedly as he looks up and glances out the window, time to watch Tony Stark pick up his ridiculously adorable child from the preschool that really _is_ right next door.

The kid is short, which Steve supposes is to be expected since he's attending preschool. He's got straight dark hair, flopped over into his face, and he's holding onto Tony's hand and chattering excitedly.

The smile on Tony's face almost stops Steve's heart.

He'll admit to himself that he'd thought Tony was a good-looking guy. He'll even admit to himself that he'd been thinking more about Tony's rear than he should have.

But none of that means _anything_ compared to the way Tony looks now, warm and bright and obviously completely in love with his son.

Steve doesn't think anyone has ever looked so beautiful.

He's standing there in the empty, half-finished shop, staring out the window like an idiot. He can't tear his eyes away from Tony and his son. Because the kid – Casey, Tony had said – obviously worships the ground Tony walks on. He's looking up at his dad like he hung the moon and the stars and then presented them to Casey as a gift.

Tony and his son are so enamoured with one another that they don't even glance at the coffee shop – a fact for which Steve is glad, because he's still standing there like an idiot, watching as they walk past Steve's shop.

He watches them until they turn the corner, out of view, his eyes unblinking the whole time.

 

+++++

 

Steve had honestly expected the first few days of the new shop opening to be a bit on the slow side. It takes time to build a presence, or so he assumed.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

By the end of the third day, the new location is a raging success. Most of his first customers are parents who come in after dropping their kids off at the school. All of them are _overjoyed_ at having a coffee shop right next door, and they tell him how convenient it is, and they're going to tell all their friends how great this place is.

_Take that, Tony Stark._

He feels a little childish after thinking it. But only a little.

He is surprised when, on the fourth morning the new shop is open, Tony saunters back in looking far more composed than he had the last time that Steve had seen him. Less like a frazzled parent, more like a suave entrepreneur. It's a good look on him. Not quite as good as Tony in full dad mode with his son, but it's still a good look.

"Decided to hang around Manhattan for a while?" Tony asks by way of a greeting, leaning casually against the counter. Clint wanders off to the other end of the counter to put away some dirty dishes, leaving Steve to deal with Stark. That had been the agreement – Clint and Bucky had both said that since he'd gotten 'the crazy Stark guy' calmed down the first time, Steve could also be the one to deal with him going forward. What great friends Steve has.

Though, truthfully, he doesn't really mind. He's actually _pleased_ to see Tony in again.

"Figured I should spend more time here to make sure the new shop is up and running," Steve replies. "You just couldn't keep away from my coffee, could you?"

"If it's not as good as the stuff you make in Brooklyn, you and I are going to have serious problems."

"You make that threat a lot," Steve comments as he pours a large cup of fresh brew and slides it over to Tony. "Fortunately for me, I know how to stay in your good graces." His point is proven as Tony takes a sip and sighs happily. Steve smirks to himself. He makes a damned good cup of coffee, and he knows it.

After the third sip, Tony manages to tear his gaze away from the cup and turns his attention back to Steve. "So," he says carefully, "all the other parents I've talked to won't shut up about how great this place is, how nice you all are, how much they love having a good, wholesome cafe next to the school."

Steve nods, and can't quite suppress the 'I told you so' grin. "A few of them have already asked about doing book clubs and social gatherings here on the weekends when there's programming running at the school. And someone asked about catering for school events when things start back up in the fall. Which, by the way, I would be happy to do."

"I… am willing to admit, that would be nice," Tony manages to admit.

"Whoa, careful. Don't strain yourself," Steve teases, then gives Tony a more genuine smile. "But thank you. I appreciate it. Like I said, I love the neighbourhood, and I want the shop to be a part of it."

Tony nods. "I did a _lot_ of research before deciding to set up the office near here. And I did even more before I decided to move us here and put Casey in Trinity."

"So did I," Steve replies. "Honestly, I wasn't sure that expanding was a good idea. I mean, we're doing well in Brooklyn, but we started out as just three guys with a pile of baggage and no idea what to do, or how to live like normal civilians again. Having a lot of empty time on our hands… it wasn't good for any of us. But I found this neighbourhood, and it felt right. Pretty sure I looked at every available building zoned for commercial space in the area before I settled on this one."

"Yeah, you were thorough," Tony agrees.

"I love the feeling of the neighbourhood, I love the architecture, I love that there's so much cultural diversity. I love that it's growing more vibrant, and how much of that is community-generated. I saw a chance to be a part of that, and to expand our outreach programs. Give back a little."

"Outreach programs, huh? Is that what this is about?" Tony asks, nodding to the half-full jar of buttons on the counter.

Steve nods. "It's something we started early on in the Brooklyn shop. Folks can buy a coffee or a meal for someone and donate it, and we put a button in the jar. When someone who needs a meal but can't afford it comes in, we take a button out of the jar and give them a meal."

"And what if someone comes in and the button jar is empty?" Tony asks skeptically.

"We feed them anyway," Steve shrugs. "I'm not going to turn away folks who need it. It's not just the homeless, either, though we do occasionally partner up with a shelter in Brooklyn to provide meals to them. I had a single mom come in a few times just after we opened up the Brooklyn shop. She'd just got out of a rough relationship, left her husband and took her two kids, was between jobs. Ran out of money before she ran out of month a few times. We helped make sure she and the kids didn't go hungry. Now she's back on her feet with a good job and in a relationship with another wonderful woman. They come in once a week for lunch and always donate a meal." Steve isn't sure why he's suddenly telling Tony all of this. He barely knows the man, and Tony has no real reason to care. But Tony is listening to him, _really_ actually listening, not just nodding politely.

"That's – I'm glad. It's a good thing you're doing," Tony tells him.

Steve shrugs. "There are a lot of people who are in need that fall through the cracks. Figure if I can help even some of them, it's good. My Ma didn't always have an easy time of things, raising me on her own. But we had a lot of great people around us, friends who helped her out, people she helped out. As I grew up, it made me appreciate how important community is. That's what I'm trying to do here. And why I think we can do some good in your 'wholesome family neighbourhood'."

Tony winces visibly. "Yeah, look, I'm sorry about that. I really am. I wasn't trying to suggest anything or, you know –"

"I know, I know," Steve laughs, waving him off. "I'm trying to give you a hard time, and clearly it's working. But, for the record, we have zero tolerance for any harassment or discrimination here. I'll throw you out myself." He flexes his arm jokingly to prove his point.

Tony's cheeks flush a little, but he just throws a grin right back at Steve. "Good, I can get behind that. Don't want my son hanging around any place that does any differently."

They both chuckle, and then silence follows for a beat or two after. It's a little awkward, and they both look away. They're saved by Tony's phone chiming an alert.

"Ah, I have to run. Apparently I'm running late for a meeting. Whoops." Tony stuffs the phone back in his pocket and grabs the coffee. He slides a $20 bill across the counter to Steve and waves off the change. "Consider it a meal donation," he says, waving, and strolls back out of the shop, casual as can be. Tony Stark is a whirlwind, and every encounter leaves Steve feeling a little off kilter and out of breath. But it's not entirely unpleasant.

"Hmm," Clint hums thoughtfully as he appears back at Steve's side. "He seems in a much better mood this morning. I'm glad to see he's moved on from trying to displace us. You seem to have won him over."

"I'm pretty sure he's not the kind of guy you win over," Steve sighs.

Clint pats his shoulder. "Oh Captain, my Captain, you're going to end up in way over your head."

"Oh, don't you even start," Steve huffs and grabs a towel, flicking it at Clint with a snap of his wrist. Clint yelps, and jumps back out of reach, cursing under his breath as the door swings open again.

"Sam! Save me! Steve is beating me up!" Clint yells as he darts around to the front of the counter and huddles behind Sam in mock cowardice. Steve rolls his eyes, and Sam turns to eye the man hiding behind him.

"You know, if I hadn't seen your service record with my own two eyes, I'd never believe that you used to be elite spec ops."

"Don't mind him. His partner in crime isn't here today, so he's just acting out. I'm not keeping him busy enough, apparently."

"Lies," Clint argues. "We've been busy. So, so busy. It's awesome."

"It has been a lot better than I expected," Steve admits, feeling a surge of pride.

"I'm glad you got the Stark issue dealt with. That guy seriously could have put a damper on things if he wanted to," Sam says.

Steve shrugs, unconcerned. "He's harmless. I mean, he was prickly at first, and I kind of thought he was a homophobic asshat. But that was just wires getting crossed. He's fine."

"Harmless," Sam says in disbelief. "Did you really just call Tony Stark _harmless?_ The guy put serious effort into getting you shut down before you even opened your doors. He probably could have found a way to do it, too, with a little more time."

"We reached an understanding, He was just worried about his son."

"Okay, that does _not_ make it better. Hyper-protective helicopter parents are among the most irrational creatures on the planet. You're lucky he didn't burn your building to the ground or something."

"Steve's magic coffee won him over," Clint adds from where he's now climbed up onto the counter to pull down spare bags.

"Clint, we paid perfectly good money for a step ladder, get your feet off the damned counter," Steve growls. Armed with his supplies, Clint jumps down as if it were no more difficult than taking a regular step.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "By magic coffee, you mean –"

" _Actual_ coffee," Steve replies shortly. "I gave him some while we were negotiating, and he seemed to like it."

"Thought he was going to have an orgasm, honestly," Clint chimes in. "Hey, we should call the daily brew 'The Orgasm,' 'cause it's so good. And then, next time Tony comes in, you can give him an Orgasm."

"Clint, I swear to god." Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, and by this point, Sam isn't even trying to hide his laughter.

"Oh look, customers, thank god," Steve says cheerily as the door opens and a couple of people walk in. "You can go help them and leave me in peace to talk with Sam."

Sam is still laughing as Steve leads him across the shop to a table in the corner and sits down. "Honestly, Sam, why did I think going into business with my best friends was a good idea?"

"Because you all adore each other, and you'd be lost without them," Sam points out.

"Ah. Right. That one," Steve sighs and glares across the shop at Clint, who proceeds to stick his tongue out at Steve. "Though, there are days. But you're not here to listen to me complain about my obnoxious co-workers. What's up?"

"Actually, I'm here to bring you more obnoxious co-workers, as it were," Sam says, pulling out a sheet of paper with some names and contact information. "I checked around with some folks at the VA like you asked, and I have a few people here who I think would be a good fit. They're all interested, all just looking for part time hours, something to give structure to the day, you know?"

"All too well," Steve agrees, and takes a look at the list. "I haven't met Sandi, but I think all the others I've crossed paths with at the VA."

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to interview them or not, but either way, they're all expecting to hear from you."

Steve shakes his head. "Nah, it's fine. You say they're good, then they're good. I'm happy to have them – unless they specifically want the interview experience."

"Thanks for doing this man, really,"

Steve waves him off. They all have the same problems. It's hard enough trying to settle back in after retiring from the service. Harder still to find work, especially work that lets you make time for appointments, therapy, shit days that result from all the trauma. Not to mention the complete lack of work experience outside 'ability to fight and shoot.' Steve, Clint, Bucky, they all get it. They'd all benefited from the services of the VA, and hiring other vets just makes sense, as far as they're concerned. Sam and the rest of the staff run some great programs and workshops geared towards helping vets get out into the civilian workforce, but having places like Brewed Awakening that actively try to hire vets helps a lot.

"I'm the one that should be thanking you," Steve says. "There is no way that we'd be able to keep up with two locations without more staff. We're stretched too thin this week already. Sooner they can start, the better. I'll call them all this afternoon."

"You know, I'm proud of all of you," Sam tells him. "Honestly. All three of you, you're doing incredibly, especially given everything you were dealing with."

Sam had been a big help with that, even if he'd deny it. Steve had been damned lucky to make friends with him – and then more or less force Bucky and Clint into doing the same.

"We should celebrate a successful first week tomorrow. Dinner and drinks with the crew after the shops close," Steve suggests.

"Solid plan," Sam agrees, raising his mug. "To Brewed Awakening."

 

+++++

 

By the beginning of the following week, Steve has four new staff members between the two shops, which gives him, Clint, and Bucky a little more flexibility to move between both of the shops _and_ actually take a day off. One of his new hires is a former quartermaster, and the single most organised person Steve has ever met. In a matter of days, Sandi had completely taken over managing the inventory and ordering for both shops. Steve had thought the system he had in place had been pretty good, until he saw how well she had streamlined the whole thing. She'd been a lifesaver, honestly.

"We can never lose her," Clint informs him as he comes out of the back of the Manhattan store with a box of cups and lids that need to be brought to the Brooklyn store so they don't run out before the next shipment arrives. "Sandi is amazing."

"Agreed," Bucky says. "And speaking of not being able to lose people… " He nods over to the door, and Steve looks up again just in time to see Tony walking in with with a redheaded woman. She stands placidly, like she could be just any old person on the street, but there's something in the set of her shoulders and the way she's sizing up the shop, its exits, and every person inside in seconds that Steve recognises. He's not sure if she's military, exactly, but she's certainly no stranger to the habits. She's beautiful – maybe a girlfriend? He doesn't think she's Casey's mom, Tony had mentioned being a single father. Steve is suddenly filled with a hot burst of jealousy, which is stupid, because he absolutely doesn't think of Tony that way at all.

Clint sets down the box on the counter and stands beside Bucky, leaning in to whisper something that Steve can't quite catch. Judging by the way that Bucky stifles a snort, he's fairly certain that he doesn't want to know what they're saying.

"Steve, my favourite supplier," Tony greets him. "I need you to hook me up."

"You're makin' me sound like a drug dealer," Steve mutters as he pours Tony a cup of the daily brew — which they are very definitely _not_ calling a 'Cup of O', no matter what Clint says.

"Technically, caffeine is a mind-altering substance," Bucky points out.

"Who needs a reputation anyway?" Steve sighs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling in supplication as he passes the cup over to Tony.

"You already have quite a reputation in the neighbourhood," Clint adds solemnly, and Steve just wants him to stop now, before he says anything too embarrassing and Steve has to kill him. Tony's companion studies Clint intently, eyeing him in a way that seems like she's assessing him inside and out for a brief but intense moment. Then she smiles brightly at him, and moves to stand beside him. They begin speaking in low tones, and Steve wants to pay attention but he's distracted by Tony at just that moment.

"Come to me, my sweet salvation," Tony intones, taking the cup, completely oblivious to the exchange that just occured. He takes a sip, and makes that _sound_ again. It's soft, and absent minded — Tony's probably not even aware that he's making it — but it goes straight through Steve and threatens to fill his mind with potential for thoughts he is definitely _not_ going to indulge.

"So, uh, how're you doing?" Steve asks, trying to steer his mind back on track. Beside him, Bucky is suddenly tense, and a shadow has fallen over his face. Clint instinctually shifts closer to him, even as he's still chatting up Tony's friend.

"Great, actually, now that I've actually found someone to help watch Casey. Meet Natasha," he gestures to the redhead, and she breaks off her conversation with Clint in order to offer her hand to Steve.

"Nice to meet you," she says politely and shakes his hand with a firm grip.

"Likewise. This is Bucky, and that's Clint."

Clint grins his goofy puppy grin, but all Bucky manages is a tight nod, and a forced smile that doesn't even reach the corners of his mouth. It's really more of a grimace than anything else. Or a baring of teeth, like some kind of challenge.

"I'm glad you found someone," Steve says, feeling his own sense of relief. It's definitely because of how much less stressed Tony looks now compared to the first day they'd met — which wasn't actually that long ago, even though it feels like ages. The relief _isn't_ because Natasha is Tony's employee, rather than a date or something.

"Me, too," Tony agrees. "Honestly, she's been a total lifesaver, and Casey loves her." So, Steve thinks, good with kids, and she very clearly has a previous background that lends itself well to kicking ass. She is, quite possibly, the most perfect fit of a nanny that Tony could ask for, Steve is happy to observe. "So you know, if you see her walking around the neighbourhood with him, it's totally fine."

"Duly noted. We'll look forward to seeing you around, Natasha," Steve says pleasantly.

Whatever the opposite of thrilled is, that's how Bucky appears right now. He's radiating electric hostility. Admittedly, it's well covered – Steve doubts a random stranger would pick up on anything more than a subdued mood, but Steve knows him better than that. It's a little concerning, almost. Natasha seems nice, and he's got no doubt that Tony vetted her with a _very_ thorough background check, but something about her has Bucky right on edge. And Steve has learned to trust Bucky's instincts. He wonders briefly if he should pull Tony aside and talk to him about her.

"Shit, we have to run," Tony says quickly glancing at the time. Steve will have to talk to Tony about Natasha another time then – maybe after he figures out what's set Bucky off. "Thanks, as always, Steve. See you soon." He waves, and heads for the door at a quick clip.

Natasha lingers behind a moment, looking from Clint over to Bucky. "Don't worry, alright?" She says to Bucky in a low voice, and nods over to Clint. "He's going to be my new best friend, nothing more. Besides, he very clearly has eyes for someone who _isn't_ me."

"Guh? I don't –" Clint manages to sputter in confusion as the tension that had been stretching between Natasha and Bucky promptly shatters. Bucky nods once, almost imperceptible, and Natasha turns and saunters out after Tony.

"What… the hell just happened?" Steve asks, confused.

"Don't worry about it, Stevie," Bucky says, patting his arms. "She's alright, that one. Congrats on your new BFF, Clint."

Steve wants to ask more questions, but a crowd of college students comes in at just that moment, and it's all hands on deck.


	3. Chapter 3

**_June_ **

Tony sighs and sinks back into the sofa, sipping at the cup of coffee he had picked up from Brewed Awakening on his way home from the office. He'd been looking forward to getting home to cuddle with Casey for a while, but he'd returned to a note from Natasha saying she'd taken him to the park for a bit before dinner. Tony knows they'll be home soon, but he still can't help but miss his son.

He is, however, pleased at how well Natasha seems to have fit into their lives. Casey really does adore her, and she'd come with more references than he'd ever seen on a resume for a Nanny. She'd worked on the secret service detail for the White House, and when the president's kids had been small, she'd been in charge of their care despite her young age at the time. She'd worked private security for a few years, and now she's Tony's nanny – meaning that no matter what, Casey is in good hands. Hands that can protect him.

With that knowledge, Tony is sleeping better at night. He's more productive at the office. When he's at home with Casey, he can put all his energy into enjoying that time, instead of wondering whether Casey will be okay through the summer, or whether he's in danger, or if the company will fold and they'll end up out on the street living in a van.

It's unlikely, sure. Tony does not – nor does he ever intend to – own a van. But knowing Casey is well taken care of during the day means Tony doesn't have so much of that irrational fear to contend with. It's still there, sure, but it's in the back of his mind now, instead of the front.

Unfortunately, it also means he has more time to think about Steve Rogers.

It's ridiculous. He has no business thinking any kind of thoughts about Steve Rogers. They're friendly, sure, but they're not even friends. They'd gotten off to a rocky start, but now Tony's in the shop daily, and most days Steve's working in the Manhattan shop. Tony's started to wonder if Steve even bothers to work in the Brooklyn shop anymore.

Not that he cares. He doesn't have time for a crush on the coffee guy. Also, he doesn't have a crush. He'd have to be _dead_ to not notice how attractive the guy is, but that's all it is. Tony just has eyes. It's not a big deal.

He's saved from any further attempts to convince himself by the ding of the elevator outside the front door – Casey and Natasha have arrived home.

Tony's up and headed for the door even as it opens, and Casey runs inside to allow himself to be scooped up and whirled around in Tony's arms.

"Daddy! Daddy! We saw a duck, and a doggy, and goats, and I went so high on the swings I almost touched the _sun_ ," Casey squeals into his ear, and even as Tony winces at the volume, he thrills in the sound of it. This is his boy.

"The sun? Really? What about the radiation? Do you have super powers now?"

Casey giggles. "No!"

"Are you sure? Maybe you can turn invisible, give it a try."

Casey squeezes his eyes shut, a look of concentration scrunching up his face, and then he pops his eyes open. "Can you see me, Daddy?!"

Tony frowns in thought. "I can still see you, buddy. So I guess it's not invisibility. Maybe you have super speed now? How fast do you think you can run and wash your hands for supper?"

"I can go really fast, Daddy!" Casey says, squirming until Tony has to put him down, laughing, and then running at full speed down the hallway toward the bathroom.

"Mr. Stark," Natasha greets him with a smile as she puts her purse down on the little table beside the door.

"Tony," Tony corrects her automatically, as he has done every day since she started working for him. "Did you guys have a good day?"

"I took him to the little pop-up petting zoo in Central Park," she nods.

Tony winces a little, his throat tight. "Lotta people in Central Park," he says. Too many people for Casey to be around, if Tony is honest, but he's trying not to sound like a crazy person about it.

"It's Tuesday," Natasha says. "We went this morning before it got crowded."

It's enough of a reassurance to make Tony feel a little less light-headed.

"I'm pretty caught up at work, so I thought I might take Friday afternoon off to spend with him, if you want a half-day?" Tony says as she follows him into the kitchen. He gives the pasta sauce that's been simmering on the stove a little stir, then puts on a pot to boil water.

Natasha gives him a look, quirking one eyebrow in a way that makes Tony feel like he's under a microscope, but she gives him a little nod. "Sure, if you like."

"Great, that's great," Tony says.

Casey comes running into the kitchen then, T-shirt soaked with water from washing his hands. Tony wonders fondly how much of the water actually got on his skin.

"Daddy, I was _so fast_ ," he says, breathless.

"Wow, I didn't even know you were _gone_ ," Tony says, grinning down at him.

"Hey, kid, I'm outta here," Natasha says, crouching down on her knees to give Casey a hug. He launches himself at her and winds his skinny little arms around her neck. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay, Tasha!" Casey grins. "Thanks for playing with me today!"

"You bet, kiddo," she winks, standing up and heading back toward the front door. "Have a good evening, Mr. Stark."

"Thanks, Natasha! Call me Tony!"

She doesn't answer before she heads out the door, and Tony turns his full attention back to his son.

 

+++++

 

Tony spends the bulk of his days in meetings that week — the only positive part of that being that half those meetings are with his best friend from his college days at MIT, who happens to work for him as his government liaison. Since, _apparently_ , no one in the government or government-adjacent wants to deal with Tony directly.

It suits him fine, though, since it means he doesn't have to spend any time talking to politicians, and he _does_ get to spend time talking to James Rhodes. He's overqualified for the liaison position, but he spends the rest of his time in R&D putting his aerospace engineering degree to good use.

"What's wrong with the coffee cart out front?" Rhodey asks, wiping at the little droplet of sweat on his forehead. It's Wednesday, and it's only 11 in the morning but it's already upwards of 85°F. Tony doesn't care, though. Brewed Awakening has air conditioning. And, more importantly, coffee.

"This is better," Tony tells him, not slowing his strides. They'll be inside soon, and then it will be cooler.

"There's nothing wrong with the coffee cart coffee," Rhodey gripes. "You're being a coffee snob. Is this one of those places that uses the cat shit coffee? I told you, Tony, I don't care how good it is, I'm not drinking coffee that's already been inside an animal."

"I don't think so," Tony says musingly. He really hadn't thought about what kind of beans Brewed Awakening might be using. "We can ask Steve when we get there."

"Steve?"

"Yeah, he's the owner. Well, one of the owners. But the coffee always tastes better when Steve makes it."

Rhodey stops walking, and it takes a few moments for Tony to realize he's no longer keeping up. He turns, and instantly regrets it.

Rhodey is giving him a _look_.

"What?" Tony asks defensively. "Why are you giving me a look?"

"You _like_ this guy."

It's not accusatory, or even teasing. If Tony let himself analyze it, he might even hear a note of pride in Rhodey's tone.

Rhodey had been his roommate when Tony had been doing his second PhD at MIT, which had been interesting since Rhodey was 23 at the time and working on his first. Tony had been 17, underage, and just starting to branch out past "heterosexual". He'd seen Tony's wild, casual and ill-advised sexual awakening years, and he'd seen Tony's whirlwind romance with Rumiko, and he'd seen how terribly Tony had taken her death. He'd been there through all of it — a powerful support system that had been highly skilled at taking Tony down a peg and slapping him across the face with a dose of reality when needed, or propping him up when he had been at his lowest points.

Which is why Tony is definitely not having this conversation.

"What? No, of course I don't _like_ him." He starts walking again, and Rhodey catches up to him, laughing.

"You _do_!" And Rhodey's tone is creeping into "crowing" territory, which means Tony has got to nip this line of thought in the bud before Rhodey really gets going.

"No! No, I _don't._ Sure, he's good-looking, and he makes great coffee, but I don't _like_ him."

"Oh, no, I know your crush face, man, and this is an actual _crush_ you've got. You put the 'twit' in twitterpated. Your eyes did that creepy Bambi thing when you said his name. I'll show you, say it again."

"You're kind of a dick."

"You love me."

"Yeah, sugarbear, but you're also a dick and also I don't have a _crush_. We're not _nine_."

Rhodey snorts. "I can't wait to bring this up later, when you come to me to tell me how madly in love you are."

"You should probably hold your breath so you can suffocate and put me out of my misery," Tony says, rolling his eyes. They're almost at Brewed Awakening and Tony needs to change the subject, fast. If for no other reason than he doesn't want to be blushing when they walk in the door.

Rhodey grabs hold of Tony's forearm, stopping their progress again. He tugs until Tony is facing him, and Tony wants to look away because they're about to have one of their 'feelings' moments and Tony's already feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

"Seriously, Tones. I'm proud of you. You deserve to be happy."

Tony flashes a quick smile, and pulls Rhodey into a hug, ignoring that they're both a little sweaty and hot from their walk. "Thanks, Rhodey."

"You're welcome. Also, I'm still gonna give you shit about it. Like, as often as possible."

"I expect nothing less," Tony grins, turning back toward their destination. "Now, let's go get us some coffee."

When they get to Brewed Awakening, Tony pulls the door open and waves Rhodey through first.

"Sweet, sweet air conditioning," Rhodey sighs, walking in and headed for the counter.

Tony follows after, eyes tracking the shop all over. Steve's at the counter, wiping it down. It's fairly quiet – late for the morning rush and early for lunch, so there are only a few people inside, and there's no line.

Steve glances up as the little retro chimes hung on the door, and when he meets Tony's eyes, his face transforms into a bright, joyful smile. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his mouth beams wide, and Tony knows, deep down in his _soul_ , that if Steve were to wrap his big, solid arms around Tony's torso, it would be the best hug of his entire life.

"Tony! Hey!" Steve greets him, wiping off his hands and leaning across the counter. "Usual for you?"

"Hey, Steve," Tony says, nodding his head and strolling up to the counter. "Can we get a couple of Clint's cannolis, too? And a coffee for my friend?"

Steve's eyes swing toward Rhodey, and his face… tightens? But then he's smiling again, pulling out a couple of Clint's cannolis and placing each of them on its own plate, with a little paper doily. The plates are mismatched, which Tony thinks just adds to their charm – even if Steve claims it was never intentional, and the problem is that Clint and Bucky can't go a day without breaking at least three plates, so they've ended up with several incomplete sets.

Rhodey bobs his head in greeting, eyes flicking toward Tony but, thankfully, keeping the smug expression off his face. Tony can still see it, though, lurking behind his eyes. "Make mine iced, man, if you don't mind."

Tony blinks at him. "Sorry, when did you become a suburban soccer mom? What did I miss?"

"It is hot as balls out there, Tony, the last thing I want is a hot drink."

"Knowing you, you'll forget the coffee's there until it gets cold anyway, so why _start_ cold?"

"I'm sorry, _I'm_ the one who forgets my coffee is beside my elbow for hours at a time, as well as my phone, my food, my basic hygiene?"

"Hey, uncalled for," Tony protests, but Rhodey steamrolls over him.

"No, man, you wanna make fun of my beverage order, I'm gonna spill all your business out in the open, see if I don't."

Tony knows a losing battle when he sees one, so he decides to ignore Rhodey completely, and turns back to Steve, ridiculously charmed by the bemused expression on his face as he pours Tony's black coffee into an oversized ceramic cup. "Don't mind Rhodey," he says, positioning his shoulders just so, so that he's turned slightly away from his best friend. "He's suffering from heat stroke, or asshole stroke. One or the other."

Rhodey makes a sputtering sound, and Steve bites on his bottom lip to keep from smiling again. Tony's eyes are drawn right to the plump, pink flesh. He can't look away as Steve's perfect, white teeth dig into the skin.

"Steve, I don't know this man beside me, but if he orders a real coffee instead of a minivan-mom version, his name will be James Rhodes and he will be a friend of mine who also _works for me_."

"Yeah, fire me, I dare you, we'll see how long it takes Congress to get all up your ass," Rhodey mutters.

"Nice to meet you, James," Steve says, holding his hand out to shake. Rhodey reaches out to take it, pumping Steve's in greeting.

"Jim," Rhodey offers, smiling. "Good to meet you, Steve. Heard a lot about you."

Tony makes a strangled sound because _no he hasn't_ , and Steve's cheeks flush an adorable, innocent shade of pink.

"I was telling Rhodey about the shop, and how good the coffee is," he says, feeling defensive. God, what had he ever done to Rhodey, anyway?

"I'm told it's the ambrosia of the gods, and will ruin me for all other forms of caffeine," Rhodey agrees.

"Well, it wouldn't make any sense to open a coffee shop in Manhattan if we don't fully intend to get our customers hopelessly addicted to the coffee," Steve grins. "Clint and Bucky will both tell you I'm bad at backing down from a challenge."

"Addiction," Tony says with a sage nod of his head. "Best way to run a business. Why do you think we design smartphones on the side?"

Steve finishes pouring Rhodey's coffee into a clear plastic cup filled with ice cubes. He adds a splash of cream to the concoction and tops it with a domed lid before sliding it across the counter to Rhodey.

Tony doesn't glance at the cash he pulls out of his wallet, putting it down on the counter and taking his cannoli and coffee to sit at a table by the window. It's a complete coincidence that he sits facing the front counter, able to keep his eyes on Steve.

Rhodey follows him to the table, sits down, and then crosses his arms over his chest.

Tony stares at him for a long moment.

Rhodey says nothing.

Tony says nothing.

Rhodey continues to say nothing, aggressively.

Tony rolls his eyes and sighs loudly. "What?" he finally asks, breaking first.

"Dude, I coulda seen you flirting from across the street. That was gross. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Tony scoffs. "Sugarbear, you know if I started flirting there'd be no doubt in the room." He ignores the way his heart speeds up and his cheeks go hot. He had _not_ been flirting.

"Nah, see, that's what you think. There's no doubt in the room when you're going out of your way to turn up the charisma and the charm. When you're making a point of _trying_ to be flirty. This is different. You only do _this_ when you really actually like someone." Tony scoffs, but Rhodey continues. "Lucky for you, Steve was flirting right back."

Tony chokes and sputters on his coffee.

"Was not," he objects.

"Was," Rhodey insists.

"Was. Not."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Tones."

Steve _hadn't_ been flirting with him. He'd just been being nice, because that's his _job._ Steve is nice to everyone.

"Rhodey, there was no flirting. I wasn't flirting with him. He wasn't flirting with me. Period. End of story." His words come out in a harsh whisper, and he peers furtively over Rhodey's shoulder to the counter, worried that Steve is going to overhear what they're talking about.

Rhodey shrugs, and lets it go for the time being. But Tony knows him well enough to know that he hasn't heard the last of this.

 

+++++

 

"What do you think, kiddo? Lemonade?"

Casey is looking up at the display case of pastries in awe, as though he's been living in a black and white movie his whole life, and this is the moment he's finally seeing colour. Clint's sweets, cakes, squares and pies do look pretty tempting, but Tony doesn't want to put the poor kid into a sugar coma.

It's Friday afternoon, and he's given Natasha the afternoon off. Of course, he has no intentions of getting through the afternoon without a coffee, so on their way to the park, Tony had decided they'd stop in at Brewed Awakening. Plus it would be a nice treat for Casey, who hasn't been inside yet.

Steve is leaning over the counter, grinning down at Casey, and the look on his face is adorable. Tony can't help but puff his chest out a little bit – his kid is really, really cute, and he always feels proud when someone else notices it. When Tony had first walked in with Casey, Steve had smiled that bright sunshine smile at him, and then glanced down at the little dark haired boy holding his hand, and his face had almost melted. When Tony had introduced him to Casey, Steve had gone so far as to lean all the way over the counter so he could shake Casey's hand properly. Casey had looked as though he'd just met a prince.

"We've got strawberry lemonade, raspberry lemonade, and mango lemonade," Steve says, tone serious. He gives Casey a little wink. "I think the mango might be my favourite."

Casey looks up at Tony shyly, but Tony can see the wild anticipation on his face.

"Can I have the mango, Daddy?" he whispers, eyes big. "And a treat?"

"You don't think the lemonade is enough of a treat?" Tony asks, keeping his voice light. Not that he doesn't have every intention of getting them something out of that case, but he doesn't want Casey to realize how spoiled he is.

"But Daddy, I never had a treat from here before."

"That's true," Tony nods, pretending to think it over. "Did you tidy up your room this morning with Miss Natasha?"

"Yes!"

"Hmm. And did you eat all your vegetables at lunch?"

"Yes, Daddy, I did!" Casey is practically vibrating now, because as sneaky as Tony thinks he might be, his son knows well enough how this is about to go.

"Wow, it sounds like you've been very good today," Steve pipes up from behind the counter. "Tony, I think that's the kind of behaviour you should reward." Steve's eyes twinkle right into Tony's, a cheeky grin pulling at the corners of his lips. He's probably just managed to ingratiate himself to Casey for life.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Tony grins back. He sighs, and glances at the case. Casey's not a picky eater, but most of the fare in the pastry case is geared toward adults.

Except that bottom row – right at children's eye level. A row of oversized, soft-looking cookies.

"You know what, Case? I think Steve's right. You can choose one of those cookies at the bottom there for a treat to go with your lemonade." Tony ignores Casey's excited squeal, barely pausing for a breath. "And then you're going to go and burn off at least 78 per cent of that sugar at the playground before you even think of coming home with me."

Casey's already got his face pressed up against the glass, big eyes drinking in the cookie choices. Steve is grinning as he slides over the coffee Tony hadn't even ordered yet, and a small mango lemonade. "You want something sweet, too, Tony?"

A light blush dusts Steve's cheeks, and Tony does have to admit it had sounded a little bit flirty, but he ignores it because he knows Steve didn't mean it that way. Tony does wink back, though, and waves toward the case. "Cannoli for me, please. And what kind of cookie for Casey?"

Casey looks up, eyes wide, and points at the case like he's just discovered the centre of the universe. "Peanut butter monster cookies, Daddy."

Tony grins and looks back up at Steve. "And a peanut butter monster cookie for the squirt."

"I'll bring 'em out to you at a table if you want," Steve says. Tony smiles again and picks up their drinks, leading Casey over to a table by the window so they can people-watch pedestrians. Casey kneels on his chair, practically leaning over the table to sip at his lemonade, chattering excitedly.

Bucky comes out of the back and exchanges a few words with Steve as Steve is placing the baked goods on little plates. Steve heads toward their table, and Bucky starts wiping up the counter.

Steve sets the cookie down in front of Casey first, who dutifully thanks him before picking it up and taking a ridiculously large bite. Then he sets the cannoli in front of Tony.

"You guys want anything else? Bucky's telling me I need to take a break, or he's going to kick me out of the shop for a week."

"We're good," Tony says, and then, for some reason, his mouth keeps moving without his permission. "Don't suppose you wanna pull up a chair and spend your break with us?"

Steve blinks at him, and then the smile that blooms across his face eclipses all the other smiles Tony has seen from him.

"I'd like that," he says. "Lemme just grab a sandwich and a drink."

Steve flashes that bright, warm smile one more time, and Tony's heart sinks. Rhodey had been right. He _does_ have a crush on Steve.

Well, obviously, he'd known he'd had a crush on Steve, because the guy is gorgeous, and he's funny and kind of a little shit when he wants to be, but this feeling in his chest… it's more than that. He actually _likes_ Steve. Enough to be a problem.

Steve comes back a moment later with a coffee and a sandwich from the back. It looks like a fairly simple sandwich, but Tony can smell garlic and pesto and something rich in it. Tony takes a bite of his cannoli, watching Casey work his way through his cookie.

"So, Casey, are you having a nice summer?" Steve asks after a moment.

"Miss Tasha is really fun – she takes me to the park a lot, and she said on Tuesday we're going to the aquarium!"

"Oh, that'll be fun," Steve says, getting right into it and melting Tony's heart just a little bit more.

He watches his son talk animatedly about what he hopes to see at the aquarium, and he watches Steve listen, respond, and interact with him. Casey is already smitten – he loves it when adults treat him like a peer, and Steve is a natural with him.

Tony needs to stop thinking about Steve in a romantic capacity. Not only had they gotten off on the wrong foot, but Tony doesn't have time for romance. He hasn't had time for romance since Casey was born – that was the deal. Honestly, he's a little surprised at how easily he'd managed to develop feelings. Rumiko had been the love of his life. Since the moment she was gone, he hadn't thought he even _could_ develop feelings for someone else. Yet, here he is, thinking about how beautiful Steve's smile is, and wondering how his lips would taste.

Tony watches them, completely oblivious to the passage of time. He thinks sometimes he even joins in on the conversation, though he's barely paying attention and he wouldn't be able to say, later, what the conversation had been about. But Casey and Steve are getting along like a house on fire, and it makes Tony's chest ache.

It's too easy to think about how easily Steve would slot into their lives. Too easy, and too dangerous. It was one thing to face off against Rhodey's teasing about flirting, it's another thing entirely to imagine Steve and Casey together outside the shop. The three of them walking down the street, each of them holding on to one of Casey's hands. Steve and Casey chasing each other around the playground. Curling up together on the couch watching cartoons, just the three of them. And late in the night, when Casey is sound asleep in his room, Steve and Tony laid out in a warm bed, limbs tangled together.

Tony shuts down all those thoughts because it's just not going to happen. It doesn't matter that Steve seems naturally great with Casey. It doesn't matter that Casey naturally adores him, and Tony can already tell that once they leave, Casey is going to be pestering him about coming back and visiting Steve. It doesn't _matter_ because nothing is going to happen. His mind can wander down that path all it wants, but it's looking at a future that is never going to happen. One that he'll never have.

And yet, right now, in this moment he's happy. They both are. Surely, there's nothing wrong with holding on to that, is there?

Eventually, the shop gets busy again, and Steve needs to get back to work. Before he leaves, Steve thanks Casey for coming in, and tells the kid that he really enjoyed meeting him and talking. Casey beams with joy and pride, and thanks Steve for the lemonade and the cookie.

Tony and Casey stay for a few minutes more before Tony decides to make good on his threat of making Casey run off all his sugar energy on the playground before they head home for dinner. On the sidewalk, Casey skips along and takes Tony's hand, gripping his tiny fingers around Tony's.

"That was fun!" Casey says happily. "I wanna come back soon. Steve is really nice and I like him lots."

"Yeah?" Tony asks. "So do I, Case." He glances back over his shoulder at the shop as they head down the block and smiles. "Yeah, we can definitely come back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4840/31101925757_1de9cde5d0_b.jpg).


	4. Chapter 4

**_July to October_ **

Several days after Tony showed up with Casey, Steve is still thinking about it. Seeing Tony and Casey through the shop window heading down the sidewalk had been one thing, but seeing them interact in person had been something else entirely. Casey had been more adorable than Steve could have ever imagined – bright, excited, polite, funny, endearing. And Tony... Tony's incredible with his son. It had been clear since the first day he'd met Tony that Casey was the most important thing in the world to him. But it's more than just being a protective parent. Tony loves Casey with every fiber of his being. He has Casey up on a pedestal and will do whatever it takes to lay the world at his son's feet. Steve figures all parents are like that to a certain extent, but there's something special about watching Tony and Casey that made Steve's heart burst with respect and affection.

He's still distracted by memories of Tony laughing at Casey and his silly jokes when he walks into the Brooklyn shop to pick up supplies. The store isn't due to open for another 15 minutes, so he lets himself in through the back and is stopped short, greeted by the sight of Bucky laughing, leaning forward to casually press a kiss to Clint's mouth.

"Uh?" Steve says, freezing in place and staring.

Bucky looks up, his arm snaked around Clint's waist. "Oh, hey Steve. Thought you were working Manhattan today."

"I am. We're nearly out of the new light roast, it's been way more popular than I expected. How long has this been going on?"

"How long has what been going on?" Bucky asks, his head tilted in confusion.

"This! You! Clint!" Steve sputters, waving his hand between them.

"Since like, the day after Natasha came into the shop?" Clint adds, as though _Steve_ is the one who should know the answer. "Seriously, Steve, have you been hiding under a rock?"

"That was weeks ago. How did I not know?"

Clint and Bucky look at each other. "I thought you were going to tell him?" Clint says.

Bucky shrugs. "Remember that night we were hanging out with Sam and you were sprawled all over me during the movie? He never asked about it so I just assumed you told him."

"You two are always like that with each other, even when we were still deployed." Steve hops up on the counter and waits a moment for his brain to reset. "I'm... wow. I'm really happy for you both. Really. That's amazing. I'm just also very _confused_. How'd it happen?"

"Well, okay. You remember how when Nat came in and announced she was going to be my new BFF?" Clint begins. Steve nods, and Clint continues. "Yeah, well turns out Nat is super cool and I kind of adore her and she was definitely right. But also, remember she told Bucky not to worry, because she and I were only going to be friends, and that I was into someone else? Well, Bucky kept badgering me about it, trying to figure out who it was. And I slipped and said 'he'. And I guess Bucky didn't know I was bi, 'cause. Well. Reasons."

"I didn't know _Bucky_ was bi," Steve says, looking across at his best friend and wondering how he'd missed something like that. How after everything that they'd shared, including Steve coming out, Bucky had still kept this to himself.

"Well, I wasn't," Bucky shrugs. "Or I never thought I was. But. Clint."

"Huh," Steve hums thoughtfully. Honestly, it's a great combination. Bucky and Clint had always gotten along, ever since they'd landed in the same squad. Completely inseparable. And they deserve to be happy.

Steve slides off the counter and crosses the floor to them. "I really am happy for you," he says, hugging them both, an arm around each. "I love you both."

"Sorry we forgot to tell you, kind of," Bucky says, hugging Steve a little tighter than usual. Clint has always been family, ever since they'd been overseas, and that clearly hadn't changed since they'd been home. But him being with Bucky _that_ way, now, makes him even more like a brother.

"Hey, it's okay. Sorry I've been too wrapped up in my own world to see what was right in front of me."

"You mean too wrapped up in staring at Tony Stark," Bucky grins, prodding Steve in the ribs with his elbow.

"Hey! I have not," Steve protests.

"Uh huh. Sure. Not what I've heard," Clint says.

"Or seen," Bucky adds. "Little bird tells us that he was in the other day with someone and the two of you were just all over each other."

Steve rolls his eyes. "He ordered coffee, we chatted. Just like always."

"Yeah, like 'always' cause he's _always_ coming into the shop now," Clint chimes in.

"He likes my coffee." Clint and Bucky both stare at him. "And the cannoli. That's it. He's just a nice person who's a regular at the shop."

"A nice person with a gorgeous ass who makes goo goo eyes at you and your shoulders." Bucky pats his shoulder to emphasize the point. "Admit it, Steve, you like the guy. And it's okay. It's good for you. Besides, turns out he's not actually an asshole like you first thought, so that's a win.

"It's not like that," Steve protests again even though it falls on deaf ears. "Besides, we're insanely busy right now with the new store. I barely have time to think, let alone worry about a crush. Which, by the way, does not exist."

"It's been insane since the Manhattan store opened," Clint concedes, and Steve thinks they'll probably let the issue of his crush – which doesn't exist – go for the time being. "Even the Brooklyn store has been busier since we opened. Guess word is getting around? I mean, I figured it would be tough work, but jeez. It's crazier than I thought."

"The risk was calculated, but man, are we bad at math," Steve adds, causing Clint to grin over the use of his favourite phrase.

Clint sets a few packages of beans on the counter. "Still worth it, yeah?"

"Definitely," Steve agrees. No regrets."

 

+++++

 

He takes it back. He is _full_ of regrets. Steve is grimy, sweaty, and, he thinks, covered in grease when he hears the chime of the door out front. He's got his head buried in the oven, and as much as he's losing the battle with appliance repair, he doesn't want to get up and deal with the front counter. However, he hears the chime another three times, and he knows he's got to go help Evan, their newest hire from the veterans employment program. Sam's hanging out in the kitchen with Steve, handing him tools, but he doesn't know anything about fixing defunct ovens. Sam has also been scouring Youtube for help, to no avail.

This is what he gets, he supposes, for buying a used commercial oven off Craigslist. He's not even sure what brand it is, and he's never known anything about fixing ovens. But they'd bought what they could afford at the time (which wasn't much), and when Steve had gone to put the trays of cinnamon rolls in, the oven had made a horrible popping noise, and now it's just sitting there, cold as ice. It's only him and Evan in today, of course, because Suze had found a second job and it's Sandi's day off, and Clint and Bucky are in the Brooklyn shop making goo goo eyes at one another, and the fucking oven isn't working, and that fucking door chime _won't stop going off_.

His grip slips and the wrench he's holding so ineffectually falls from his hand, almost landing on his face, and he bites out a curse. He manages to dodge the wrench, but in doing so he also smacks the top of his head against the back of the oven, and he lets his whole body go limp because he just, for a minute, wants to give up entirely.

He's not been having the best week, maybe. He mostly has his PTSD managed, especially with Sam's help, but some days are better than others, and sometimes when everything falls apart at once, he struggles.

Like now.

The door chimes again, and so he pulls himself out of the oven and lets Sam pull him to his feet.

"You okay, man?" Sam asks, giving him a slightly concerned look. "Need me to go check on Evan?"

"Nah, you stay here and set the kitchen on fire for the insurance money, I'll go give him a hand."

Sam snorts, squatting down to look into the oven as though the answer will appear out of the darkness.

Steve washes his hands quickly, and he's still drying them off as he walks up front, ignoring the grease and dirt covering his arms and shirt and, probably, face. Evan is, as expected, completely in the weeds. He's running around trying to take orders, make specialty drinks, and explain to every third customer that no, they don't have cinnamon rolls today and yes, he does know it's Wednesday, but the oven isn't working, and he's very sorry, really, but until the oven is fixed they won't be able to have any baked goods, and on and on.

Steve steps up to the cash register and smiles at the next person in line. Even he can feel that the smile is brittle, tight around his eyes, but if he and Evan can get past this rush, he'll be okay.

Sam comes out of the back and helps out by bussing tables, but there's a steady stream of people coming in and Steve figures he probably won't get the oven done until late afternoon, if ever. Actually, he should just call a repair company. They can't afford it, and honestly their line of credit is maxed out, but a little extra debt is still better than not having a functioning oven.

God, and what if they have to buy a new one? They definitely can't afford a new commercial oven, and clearly buying used didn't work out so well the last time.

He takes another couple of orders, and Evan works frantically behind him to get the drinks made. He wishes for a lull, for a chance to go back and kick at the oven a few more times, but it's not happening.

The door chimes again, and Steve wants to throw something at it, but he looks up and it's like a cool drink of water on a hot day – Tony walks in, looking handsome and animated and relaxed. He's wearing a three-piece suit that probably costs the same amount as a brand new commercial oven, but Steve doesn't feel the slightest bit jealous or bitter, because it looks amazing on him. His eyes scan the shop and zero in on Steve's immediately, and he smiles that half-uncertain, truly happy smile that Steve likes so much, and Steve's whole body changes. The tightness of his muscles is no longer the kind from anxious, on-edge stress. Instead, it's anticipation, the fluttering of nerves, a feeling in his belly of happiness to see Tony again.

They're just friends, and he keeps telling Bucky that, but that doesn't mean he doesn't notice how handsome Tony is, how funny and smart and acerbic, how brilliant and good-hearted and what a great dad. He can't _not_ notice those things. But just because he notices, it doesn't mean he'll do anything about it – it's _Tony Stark_ , not someone Steve can ask on a date. God, no.

But he smiles back, and even Steve can feel the way it lights up when his eyes meet Tony's. But he must look as terrible as he'd thought, because Tony's eyebrows draw up, and there's a hint of concern in his face. Steve gets through a couple more people before Tony's at the counter, and – miracle of miracles – Tony's the last person in the line. Steve looks forward to the little reprieve, and even more looks forward to hearing about how Tony's day is going so far. It'll be better than Steve's day is going, anyway.

"Hey, Steve. Everything okay? You look a little..." Tony trails off, and Steve gives him a little half-smile.

"That good, huh?"

"Hey, no, not what I – okay, this is not how I wanted this to go. Can I try again? You seem stressed. Can I help you feel less stressed?"

Steve sighs, pouring Tony's customary coffee and pulling a cannoli out of the case for him. The cannolis, as well as most of the other pastries in the case, Clint had made the previous evening in the Brooklyn kitchen. "My oven's broken," he says. "I've just spent the morning trying to fix it, and I don't think it's working out. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm just managing to make it worse. I've had at least a dozen customers who came in here looking specifically for cinnamon buns, because apparently everyone knows that Wednesday is cinnamon bun day, and I can't deliver because my oven is basically about as useful to me as a pile of scrap metal. I should probably just call a repair company, but god only knows how much that's going to set us back, and if they tell me that we need to replace it that's going to be an even bigger mess – Jeez, Tony. Sorry. Just forget all that, I shouldn't be unloading on you."

"Lucky for you, I love scrap metal," Tony says, completely ignoring the apology. Before Steve can stop him, he's come around the far side of the counter and is waltzing his way into the kitchen. He takes off his perfectly cut jacket and drops it haphazardly on the counter, and starts to roll up his sleeves. "Let's see what kind of fixing up the old girl needs."

"Tony, wait. You don't have to – I mean, it's fine. You don't have to do this."

Tony waves him off and drops into a crouch in front of the oven. It makes his already tight, tailored trousers stretch around his ass and frame it beautifully. Not that Steve is staring. Just, if he _were_ , he would note that it was a beautiful sight.

"But, your suit."

Tony either doesn't hear him, or chooses to ignore him as he all but crawls into the oven. Steve can't see what he's doing, but he hears clanging and scraping.

Tony shoots one hand out behind himself, and Steve notes that it's wrapped around a cell phone. "Can you hold the light?" Tony asks, and Steve takes the phone and flicks on the flashlight mode, shining it into the oven.

Sam comes back into the kitchen, blinks a few times, and then looks at Steve questioningly.

"Sam, hey, this is Tony, he's gonna give the oven a shot."

"Hey, man, better you than me," Sam says, waving at the disembodied legs sticking out of the oven.

Tony waves his hand out again with a flick of his wrist. "I won't shake your hand because oven grease, but good to meet you. I'll enjoy putting a face to the name later." His voice is echoing a little bit in the big empty oven.

"Well, I don't think it's the thermostat, but I have to pull it out to check the control panel. And it could be something like the rear burner assembly – you might think it would have nothing to do with the oven itself, but sometimes with these older models where they just started putting in some of the more complex electrical connections, if one thing goes out the whole system shuts down."

"The only part of that I understood was that the oven seems to run on some kind of electricity," Steve says dryly. The words repeat in his mind on a loop. _Some kind of electricity. Some kind of electricity_. It pings around in his head – probably because it was a stupid thing to say and he feels a little mortified – but he shakes it off and brings his attention back to Tony.

Tony pops out of the oven with a grin, eyes sparkling. He's got a smudge on his cheek, and his hair is wildly mussed. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbow so Steve can see the ropey muscles of his forearms, and he looks just disheveled enough to look ridiculously sexy.

Steve hates it.

He reaches down to help Tony up, and as soon as Tony's hand touches his, Steve can feel himself going clammy and sweaty and red-faced. It's stupid, he knows – Tony's just a man like any other, but the nervous, fluttery feeling in his gut tells him that Tony is different, that Tony's _touch_ should affect him differently.

He hauls Tony up to a standing position, heart pounding as Tony is suddenly close, so close Steve can feel a puff of breath on his jawline, and time stops entirely for just a second while they stare into each other's eyes.

Sam shifts, maybe leans against the counter and brushes against something because there's a scraping sound, and Tony jumps back as though he's been burned. Steve starts and whips his head toward Sam, who's blinking at them both owlishly. Tony rubs the back of his neck, taking another step back, and then strides forward and holds out his hand for Sam.

"Sam, huh? You're the guy from the VA office Steve talks about, right? Nice to meet you, Steve's got nothing but good things to say about you, and what you're doing with the employment placement is just great," Tony says, shaking Sam's hand too fast, talking a mile a minute.

"Tony Stark," Sam says, grinning. "Good to meet you, man. Steve's talked a lot about you."

Tony glances nervously at Steve, but then he's off again, talking almost too fast to keep up.

"Actually, we should get together because I've been thinking about getting into medical prosthetics, that kind of thing, and, I mean, who better to start with than veterans, and who better to talk to about veterans, am I right?" Tony's still talking even as he drops Sam's hand and moves toward the oven, crouches down beside it and shoves his arm down into the back, the narrow space between the oven and the wall, and starts fiddling with something that Steve obviously can't see. "I mean, Rhodey's former Air Force – he's my government liaison – but he never defers to me because he likes to be contrary, and I think it'd be nice to talk to someone who still thinks I'm kind of a big deal instead of someone who knows what I look like when I'm drooling into my pillow, you know?"

And Steve stiffens, because, well, of _course_. He should have seen it when Tony had brought Rhodey in for coffee that day, because Rhodey's a good looking guy and _naturally_ Tony would have people around him who would be more than just friends. Tony had mentioned being a single dad but that didn't mean he was _alone_. Steve should have known better.

But before Tony can say much more, the cell phone Steve's still holding onto starts blaring, and it's Metallica's 'Master of Puppets' screaming from the speaker. He almost drops it, he's so surprised by the sudden buzzing guitar.

"Speak of the devilishly handsome," Tony says, not moving from his spot half-behind the oven. "Steve, can you answer it and put it on speaker for me, I think I've almost got this panel open, and it's Rhodey, so…"

After a moment's hesitation, Steve flicks at the screen and answers the call. Instead of turning it to speaker phone, he holds the phone up to Tony's ear as Tony works, and is rewarded with a grateful, if slightly distracted look.

"Hey honeycrisp, what can I do for you?"

"You can be here 10 minutes ago when this meeting was supposed to start." Steve can hear Rhodey clearly through the phone, as close as he is to it. "You could be here on time, even just once, ever."

"Ooh," Tony hisses between his teeth, reaching a little further behind the stove. "What am I late for?"

Rhodes makes a frustrated sound on the other end of the line. "Dammit, Tony, you know we had a meeting with the assistant secretary of defense today."

"Oh, was that today?" Tony asks, but Steve can hear the lie in his voice. "Must have slipped my mind. Hey, good news, though, we don't make weapons so we don't need to talk to them."

"We're not _talking_ to them about weapons, we're talking to them about transport helicopters and communications units, and you _know_ this, dammit."

"Right, right, right. Well, you can reschedule, right?"

"Tony, there's still time to salvage this meeting, but I don't understand why you aren't here already. This is _important_."

"Sure, sure, but you can handle it, right?"

" _You're_ Tony Stark," Rhodes says. "Your name is on the building, on all the business cards. They wanted to talk to _you_."

Tony snorts, then pulls a triumphant hand back, grinning and holding onto some hunk of metal that Steve doesn't recognize.

"Oh, they do not. They might _think_ they do, but as soon as they get in a room with me, they'll change their minds. Tell you what, honey badger, you talk to them, sell them on what we're looking at, and then I'll come and debrief you, and they never have to deal with my irresponsible self at all."

"Why are we friends?" Rhodey asks, plaintively.

"Because I'm a delight," Tony says. Rhodey doesn't answer, but disconnects the call.

"Look, Tony, I really appreciate your help but if you have a meeting, I mean, I can call someone, it won't be –"

"No, no, Rhodey just likes to harass me, I'm almost done here," Tony says, interrupting Steve. He fiddles around with the back of the stove for a few more moments, muttering to himself, and then he steps back, running a grimy hand through his hair. It stands up every which way as a result.

"So I bypassed the thermal coupling," Tony says. "It's not like it's that important anyway, and older components like this don't necessarily have to be attached, we can streamline the whole process."

"Wow," Steve says, trying not to think about Tony and Rhodey together in some way. "So, what, that's it?"

"Maybe. We gotta fire it up, double check, but I think it might have been a short in the connection. You bypass the connection, the short doesn't affect anything."

Steve blinks at him, and Tony gives him an almost-shy smile.

Tony steps back and plugs the monstrosity back in, then flicks the button and turns the dial.

The heating elements start to glow red almost immediately as the oven starts up.

"Oh my god," Steve murmurs. "Oh, god, it works."

"Yep, I thought it –" Tony breaks off as Steve, against his own better judgement, whirls and pulls him into a tight, huge hug. His arms go around Tony's torso and he squeezes, doing his best to put the feeling of _rightness_ out of his mind at having Tony in his embrace.

Tony sputters a little, and then his arms go around Steve's back and oh, wow, that's even better.

"I can't thank you enough," Steve says into the place where Tony's neck meets his shoulder. "Really, Tony, you've saved me so much."

Steve reluctantly pulls back, gripping Tony's shoulders to hold him at arm's length. Tony's eyes look a little unfocused, his cheeks a little pink.

"I mean it, Tony," Steve says seriously. "Thank you."

"Don't sweat it," Tony says, brushing off the praise. "I like y – doing stuff for you. For the shop, I mean."

And Steve is so ridiculously grateful, so pleased that the oven is working and that _Tony_ had fixed it, come to his rescue like a knight in shining armour, that before he knows it, it sparks a bravery in him and the words are about to come out of his mouth – _would you like to go to dinner with me?_

Except the phone in his hand buzzes angrily, and he jumps, almost drops it again and glances at the screen. It's lighting up with notifications, that Tony has a text message from Rhodey, then another and another, and Tony shakes his head, plucking the phone from Steve's lax grip. Right. _Rhodey_.

"I'd better get a move on," Tony says apologetically. "I really should get to the office."

"Seriously, Tony," Steve says, at a loss of what to do or say now as Tony shrugs back into his suit jacket, oblivious to the smudges of dirt and grease on his hands, face and shirt. He slips the phone in his pocket without reading the texts, and picks up the to-go cup of coffee as he moves toward the kitchen doors. Steve keeps going. "I mean it. You saved my life, here. I can't – if there's ever anything I can do for you, tell me, okay? _Thank_ you."

Tony flaps his hand dismissively. "No problem," he says again. "I really don't mind."

And then he's gone out of the kitchen, leaving Steve and Sam standing there.

It's awkwardly silent for a minute, then Sam clears his throat.

"Man, Bucky wasn't kidding about your obscenely obvious crush, was he?"

"Oh, shut up," Steve says, but it's without any heat.

 

+++++

 

After the great oven incident, Steve makes sure that everyone on staff knows that Tony never pays for coffee ever again. Steve is in the back the first time Tony comes in after, but he overhears Sandi arguing with him about not taking his money. Steve comes out of the back to find Sandi standing behind the counter, arms folded over her chest and smiling sweetly – but fiercely – at Tony.

"Steve!" Tony says desperately. "Steve, Steve, Sandi won't take my money. Why won't Sandi take my money?"

Sandi slides the cup of coffee over to him. "I told you, Mr. Stark –"

"Tony," both Tony and Steve correct at the same time.

"Tony," she amends. "your coffee is on the house today."

"Okay... but. Why?"

"Because of the oven," Steve informs him sternly. Tony looks at him, confused and bewildered. It's disgustingly adorable, and Steve really wants to just reach across the counter and give him a peck on the cheek because he's so damned cute. But he resists, and says, "Because you're a miracle worker who fixed our oven."

"Yeah, but, I told you, that was no big deal. I like fixing things. Really, you were doing _me_ a favour."

Steve shakes his head. "You blew off a meeting with Department of Defence to fix my oven. And I know it doesn't seem like a big thing, but it is, and it saved us thousands of dollars, not to mention the _stress_ and –" Steve cuts himself off before he can get overwhelmed again. His emotional state has improved since earlier in the week, but he's still feeling a little fragile around the edges, and he's still not sleeping too well.

Sandi gently rests a hand on Steve's arm and turns to Tony. "We really appreciate it, Tony. It's kind of been a rocky week, and you gave us a win that we needed. Just take the damned coffee, with our thanks."

Something passes over Tony's face, a strange expression that's part understanding, part sympathy, part something else that Steve can't identify. But for a moment, it feels like Tony can see inside his very soul.

"Okay," he agrees, and takes the coffee as his expression shifts into the bright grin that makes Steve's chest feel like it's about to burst with affection. "And hey, if you ever need anything else fixed, seriously, let me know. I like it, being able to fix stuff."

It's such a casual statement, but to Steve, it feels like there's more to it. Another layer that reveals something about Tony that feels a little more vulnerable.

Tony glances at his watch, and his eyes widen. "Shit, I have to run. I'll see you later. Thanks for the coffee!" He waves and turns to leave in a hurry, dashing down the street toward his office. Steve watches after him until he's out of sight. When he finally turns away, Sandi is staring at him with amusement.

"Don't. Not you, too," he says, almost pleadingly.

"I'm not saying anything," she laughs. Steve rolls his eyes and heads back into the kitchen before she can change her mind about it.

 

+++++

 

Apparently, Tony had meant what he'd said about seeing them later, because after that, he starts coming in to grab his coffee every single morning after dropping Casey off at school. It's honestly the highlight of Steve's entire day. Eventually, Tony stops trying to pay for the coffee since Steve and the staff always refuse his money, but periodically he shoves money inside the suspended coffee and meals jar. It's a compromise that Steve is willing to accept. He's not going to turn down money for that program.

They fall into an easy routine, and before Steve really realises it, Tony has become a regular part of his life and it's hard to imagine what the shop would be like without Tony coming in.

Then, Tony starts bringing Casey in more often, when he can get out of work early and that's just even more wonderful.

Casey is... he's amazing. There's no other way that Steve can really describe it. He adores that child, with his messy black-brown hair and his dark eyes that shine with curiosity and intelligence. On the cool autumn days, Casey drinks his hot chocolate and nibbles on a cookie. Casey thinks Clint makes the _best_ cookies, and he's determined to try each and every kind. As soon as Clint hears about this, he sets out to come up with different weird combinations, so that by the time Casey gets through all the standard array, there will be more new flavours and kinds for him to try. Clint admits one evening while he's whipping up a batch of maple glazed apple crisp cookies that he's actually really enjoying the excuse to experiment with baking a little bit.

It turns out the customers really like Clint's experimentation as well, and the apple crisp cookies sell like crazy. Next thing Steve knows, the cases are stocked with an array of maple themed baked goods, and Clint is just over the moon. It actually starts to feel like they're really getting their footing, and that the three of them really are building a civilian life – and a good one, at that.

Steve glances up at the clock, and it's right around the time that Casey normally gets out of school. The bell rings on the door, and Steve looks up hopefully, to see Casey coming in with Natasha in tow. A small part of him is disappointed Tony isn't in, but it's nice to catch up with Natasha now that she's integrated into their lives as well – she had been serious about being Clint's new best friend. The two of them fell into step together so naturally Steve would almost swear that they've known each other for years. And these days, seeing Casey brightens Steve's day as much as seeing Tony.

In the mornings, sometimes he looks out the shop window to see Tony and Casey walking over to the school, hand in hand, and sometimes, Steve yearns to be out there with them. He wonders what it would be like to stand on Casey's other side and walk him to school, to stand shoulder to shoulder with Tony and wave goodbye in the morning as Casey skips up the sidewalk. He's never really thought about it before – having a family, being a parent, but the more time he spends with Casey, the more he wants it. He wants it so much, the thought of it – and the knowledge that it's something he'll never actually have – makes his chest ache so deeply, there are moments he wonders if he'll ever feel whole. He understands now why Tony feels so protective over Casey. He feels it, too. If anyone were to hurt this boy, he would burn the world to the ground to find them. But Tony has worked damned hard to build the life he has for himself and Casey, and Steve is honestly just happy that he's been allowed to become a part of that, even off to the side. He's not going to push for more and ruin the balance they all have. It's too important. He'll never do anything that would mean he risks losing Tony and Casey as a part of his life forever.

Casey bounds into the shop excitedly, his backpack bouncing as he does. "Hi Steve!" he says, waving frantically.

"Hey kiddo, how you doing?"

"Good. I asked Miss Natasha if we could come and get a cookie even though Daddy isn't here and she said _yes_."

"Is that so?" Steve hums. "Well, Miss Natasha is very nice."

Casey nods his agreement, and presses his face against the display case. "Is that one new?" Casey asks, pointing out the maple glazed apple crisp cookie.

"It sure is, Clint made it up special."

Casey's eyes widen and he looks up at Steve. "Can I have that one please?"

"Of course you can. And a hot chocolate?" Steve asks, taking the cookie out of the case and putting it on a small red plate – because red is Casey's favourite colour.

"Yes, please," Casey responds.

Steve nods and grabs a mug. "And for you, Miss Natasha?" he asks with a playful grin.

"Raspberry tea, please."

Steve grabs a second mug and sets about making their drinks with practiced ease. Casey stares, enraptured as Steve moves around behind the counter, and makes a show of pouring the milk and adding a tiny dollop of whipped cream and some shaved chocolate to the top of Casey's drink. Casey always looks so pleased when Steve makes the drink look extra fancy. He'd said once it makes it 'special.'

"If you have time, would you like to join us?" Natasha asks as he slides their finished drinks across the counter to them. Casey looks up, wide eyed and hopeful, as Natasha passes down his cookie plate. How could Steve possibly disappoint him? Besides – the shop is quiet. There's a couple off in one corner chatting quietly and laughing with each other, and the somewhat curt woman that had come in a few minutes earlier when Evan had still been at the counter, is sitting at a table by herself and typing furiously on a laptop, but otherwise the shop's empty. And he could use a break.

"Sure, I would love to," Steve tells them. Casey cheers happily and dashes across the store to his favourite table, careful not to upend his cookie. Steve pours himself a cup of coffee, grabs a muffin and comes around to join them.

"So, how was school today?" he asks Casey. "Did you learn anything fun?"

"Um. We learned about math. I can already add _and_ subtract, did you know?"

"I did not know. Great work, that's pretty amazing."

Casey preens a little at the praise and reaches into his backpack and pulls out a notebook. He flips it open to a page and then moves so that he's sitting right beside Steve, warm little body pressed up against Steve's side. "See? These are the problems that I solved today. Miss Julie says I'm doing really well and I'm smart."

"You are very smart," Steve agrees, looking over the pages of carefully written out math problems. He's definitely Tony's son, no doubt about that.

"And, I made a painting today!" Casey says excitedly. "But I can't show you because it's still drying at school. I like drawing, and I like math."

"Both are very important," Steve agrees.

"Hey Casey, did you know that Steve also really likes art?" Natasha says. Steve looks up, a little surprised, but she just shrugs. "Clint."

Casey looks at him with wide-eyed wonder. "Can you show me how to draw more stuff?" He asks, bouncing in his seat.

"Well, sure, I mean, if you want?"

"I do! I do!" Casey dives back into his bag and pulls out a pencil. He turns the notebook to a new page. Steve isn't quite sure how to explain drawing, but they start by talking about shapes, and then practice making them. Steve explains how everything you draw is made up of shapes, and then details added to make it look more realistic. He explains that sometimes it's nice to draw stuff that you can see, and sometimes it's okay to look at another picture. And sometimes you can just use your imagination and make whatever you want. Soon, the blank pages of the notebook are filled with doodles, and Steve draws a few silly cartoons that make Casey laugh.

"You make coffee, and you make art, what else do you make?" Casey asks curiously.

"Uh...." Steve isn't quite sure what to say, but Casey doesn't seem to mind.

"Miss Natasha used to fight bad guys," Casey tells him. "Did you know that?"

"I knew a little, yeah. It's because Miss Natasha is awesome."

"She's the coolest! She'll fight all the bad guys and protect us! But she says she likes kids, and wanted to help keep a special kid safe. That's why she wanted to be my nanny, and she is the best and most fun nanny ever."

"She is pretty special," Steve agrees. Natasha looks slightly pink in the cheeks, but pleased, and she ruffles Casey's hair. Steve hasn't spent as much time with her as he would have liked but it feels like she belongs in their lives, and Steve is grateful to have her there. Both for the sake of his makeshift family, and because Tony can rest easier knowing that Casey has the best looking out for him.

"Did you always make coffee, Steve?" Casey asks, setting down his pencil.

"No, not always. Actually, we only started making coffee pretty recently."

"What did you do before?" he asks curiously.

"Well, um. Actually, I was in the army. Clint, Bucky and I were all there together."

"Oh, like Rhodey," Casey nods.

Steve's stomach twists up a little at the mention of Rhodey and the blunt reminder of the place that he has in Casey and Tony's life. He shouldn't be jealous, Tony and Casey aren't _his_. Rhodey is obviously great to Tony, they go back a long way. They're a good fit. It's not Rhodey's fault that Steve heard 'single' dad and automatically assumed 'unattached.' Rhodey is a great guy, and Steve's happy for them. Really. Whatever it is between them, if it makes Tony happy, then it makes Steve happy. "Yeah, like Rhodey."

"'Cept Rhodey was in the air one. He flew planes and stuff. Is that how Bucky hurt his arm? In the army? Daddy and Rhodey say that sometimes people get hurt in the army. That's why Daddy is trying to make stuff to keep the army guys safe, so they don't get so hurt."

"Yeah, that's how he hurt his arm."

Casey nods thoughtfully. "But it doesn't matter, because he's still Bucky, and he still does lots of stuff. Doesn't matter that sometimes his arm won't work, he's special. There's a girl at my school who can't hear. Except she got a thing, so now she can hear, but it's still hard for her cause she isn't used to it. She taught me how to say some words with my hands. Wanna see?" Casey proceeds to teach Steve and Natasha some ASL signs, carefully shaped with his hands. He explains that he needs to speak slowly and clearly when talking to the girl so she can understand him. but sometimes sound is too much for her because she isn't used to it. "When that happens, we go play somewhere quiet together until she feels better."

Steve is honestly overwhelmed at how thoughtful and conscientious Casey is. Tony really is an incredible dad, to have raised such an amazing kid. Steve hopes one day he'll be able to tell Tony that without the words getting stuck in his throat.

The bell above the door jingles again, and Steve looks up to see Clint and Bucky walking in together. "Oh hey, kiddo," Bucky greets, waving over to Casey.

"Hi Bucky! Guess what? Steve taught me art things!"

"Oh, did he, now?" Bucky says, raising an eyebrow at Steve. Yet another thing Steve is never going to hear the end of.

"Nat!" Clint says happily. "Light of my life." Clint and Bucky take seats at the table next to each other, and sit back, happily listening as Casey regales them with tales of his day. He tells Clint about the sign language, and Clint lights up and immediately starts teaching him more words. Casey thinks this is the best thing to ever happen – Clint makes cookies, and knows hand words, which basically makes him a superhero, as far as Casey is concerned.

Eventually, Natasha tells him it's time to go, and reluctantly, Casey packs up his things and pulls his backpack onto his back again. He gets to his feet, and then throws his little arms around Steve, giving him a huge hug. Steve is pretty sure he forgets how to breathe, he's so happy, and he crouches down so he can return the hug properly.

"Thank you for hanging out with me Steve," Casey says, suddenly a little shy.

"You're welcome. Thank you for hanging out with me, too." Steve replies. "You're welcome any time. You, your Dad, Natasha, Rhodey. We're always happy to see you."

"Cause you're the best and the nicest." Casey announces, and then takes Natasha's hand, and together the two of them walk out of the shop.

"That's a pretty damn special kid," Bucky remarks softly, resting his hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezing gently. Steve's heart tugs with longing, and he sighs.

"Yeah, he really is."


	5. Chapter 5

**October**

"Remember that department of defense meeting you skipped?" Rhodey says, barging into Tony's office without knocking.

"Oh, yeah, with Secretary Whats-His-Face?" Tony asks distractedly.

"No, his assistant, Blaine Blackwell. It doesn't matter, the point is that I _killed_ that meeting."

"Oh, good, I knew I hired you for a reason," Tony says.

"You _hired_ me to keep your ass in line," Rhodey tells him. "I _kill it_ because I need something that wasn't a dead-end endeavour. I swear, Tony, you've turned me into Sisyphus, trying to roll your thick head up the hill of 'not acting like a moron'."

"Don't be bitter, honeycomb."

"The _point_ ," Rhodey says pointedly, "is that I just got a call, and we're _in_. We're meeting with Blackwell on Thursday to discuss specifics and go over the proposal to fine tune it for their needs."

Tony grins, comes around the desk to wrap Rhodey in a hug. He can't help but think about the hug he'd shared with Steve. Coincidentally, the hug he'd received for fixing the oven, which was why Tony had missed that meeting in the first place.

It's not exaggerating to say it had been, hands down, the best hug of his life. Steve's arms had been strong and warm and so tight wrapped around him. He'd felt truly enveloped, cocooned, and _safe_.

It's a dangerous thought, so he forces his mind back to the here and now, where he's wrapped up in a Rhodey hug. Which, he has to admit, is a close second in the 'best hugs of his life' running, because Rhodey hugs are _also_ warm and safe, but they have the benefit of being achingly familiar and comfortable, without any of the pesky one-sided sexual tension.

"Which means," Rhodey says, pulling back, "I'm about to get real damned busy, with the transport helo designs and specs. And you're going to get real damned busy with the comms designs and specs."

"We'll have to keep ourselves abreast of one another's projects somehow," Tony says with a knowing smile.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Rhodey says, answering grin on his face.

"Daily BFF meetings," Tony nods. "It's really the only answer."

"It's a hardship, but we shall overcome," Rhodey tells him gravely.

"I vote morning coffees," Tony suggests.

Rhodey snorts and rolls his eyes. "Of course you do. And I'm sure I'll have your full attention for the entirety of the meeting, and you won't be ogling the barista the whole time."

"First of all," Tony says, trying to sound offended, "I won't be _ogling_ any baristas. I told you, there's nothing going on there."

"Yeah, you _keep_ telling me that, loudly and often. And yet, you continue to go to the coffee shop every day, and every time I talk to you you're telling me about something Steve said or did or how the breeze fluttered his golden-spun hair –"

"– I have never once said –"

"– and I _know_ you, Tony, you keep forgetting that, but I know you and I love you like a brother and you have gross romantic feelings for this guy –"

"– I just like the goddamned _coffee_ –"

"– and I _support_ that, so _yes_ , we will go to the coffee shop for our meetings because that is the only way I'm going to be able to convince you to _ask him out_."

They both stare at each other for a moment, silent.

Tony knows he's trapped. Either he gives in and allows Rhodey to think that he can convince him to act on the crush he keeps denying, or he fights back by insisting they _don't_ have their meetings at Brewed Awakening.

And, by the smug look on Rhodey's face, he _knows_ it.

Tony blinks at him for another moment, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, then holds up his hand and points his index finger right into Rhodey's face. He doesn't say anything for a moment, still struggling with how to get himself out of this mess, but then he takes a deep breath.

"I'm not admitting to anything," he says, and Rhodey nods understandingly, lips twitching with a smile. "And you're wrong, because I don't have any romantic feelings at all, and so there will be no asking anyone out. But we're still going to go to Brewed Awakening, even though you are very, very wrong, because Steve makes very, very good coffee."

"Sure," Rhodey says, smiling smugly. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

Tony glares. "Don't you have work to do? Why are you still in my office? Go do something productive. You have helicopters to design."

Rhodey bursts out laughing, and he keeps laughing – no, it's more like _cackling_ , the bastard – as he lifts a hand in a wave and walks out Tony's office door.

"Meeting's at nine tomorrow!" Tony calls after him. "Don't be late, Sisyphus!"

Rhodey just keeps laughing, all the way down the hall.

 

+++++

 

The third daily BFF coffee meeting in, Tony is sitting at what has become their regular table at Brewed Awakening, surreptitiously watching Steve work out of the corner of his eye and half-listening to Rhodey talk about rotor blade technology being antiquated, and that the repulsor technology Tony has been working on would be perfect as a propulsion system for the emergency transport helos.

"And that way, we could have them be convertible vehicles, the repulsors wouldn't get in the way of road and off-road wheel systems," Rhodey is saying. Tony's not paying too much attention, because Rhodey knows what he's doing and doesn't need Tony holding his hand, and because, quite frankly, Steve is more interesting to watch.

There's a steady stream of customers coming in and getting coffees – nine in the morning was a good time to meet because it means Tony can come straight to the coffee shop after dropping Casey off at school, but it also means that all the morning commuters are in, and he doesn't have much of a proper chance to talk to Steve.

Not that he needs to talk to Steve about anything. He'd like to think they're more than casual acquaintances at this point, but he doesn't dare hope for anything higher than 'more or less friends'.

Rhodey keeps talking, and Tony keeps staring across the room at Steve as he gives those great big thousand-watt grins to every patron that walks up to the counter.

"... and then when our alien overlords come, we can tell them, 'behold, for I have created a giant clown car for you to learn to drive stick shift,'" Rhodey is saying.

"Sure," Tony answers distractedly before he blinks, the words filtering through to his brain. He looks back at Rhodey, meeting his eyes.

He doesn't look _annoyed_ , per se, more of a 'fond exasperation'. At least, that's what Tony's choosing to label it.

"I zoned out, didn't I?"

"I swear, if you stared any harder at him, your retinas would burn out."

"I'm not –"

"Seriously. Tony. Come on. Please stop."

"I'll pay attention, I promise," Tony says, straightening his spine. He really should be paying attention. He loves the fact that getting busier at Resilient means that it's necessary to have regular meetings with Rhodey. It's a great excuse to have daily BFF chats, and he doesn't want to jeopardize that.

"I don't want you to stop staring at him," Rhodey corrects him. "I want you to stop _denying_ it. And the thing is, the _worst_ thing is, he's pining for you as badly as you're pining for _him_."

"What? No, Rhodey, now you're _really_ wrong, he's not – he doesn't like me like that."

Rhodey stares at him, his jaw slack for a moment. "You're bullshitting me right now."

"No, I'm serious, he's all – he's just nice because I'm a good customer, and I fixed his oven that time. He has to be nice to me."

"You're – wow, I had no idea you were this dumb."

"Rhodey!"

"No, I mean it. Like, I met you when you were 17, Tones, and I thought you were a dumb teenager, and you were really dumb. Like, I was there when you dated _Tiberius Stone_ , so I've seen you be dumb, but this is next level. This is – just, wow, I'm starting to think you come from a long line of first cousins."

Tony is spluttering, half-laughing at Rhodey's diatribe, when Steve comes over with a pot of coffee, pouring them each a refill. Tony can't help it, his face goes bright red, because what if Steve had _heard_ that asshole?

"Hey, Steve, man, how's it going?"

"Good," Steve says, and Tony's surprised, he's not being nearly as friendly and chatty as usual. "How are you, Colonel?"

"Please, call me Rhodey."

"Can I get you guys anything else?" he asks politely.

Tony tilts his head, puzzled, even as he shakes his head. "Thanks, Steve, no, that's fine."

"Okay, let me know if you change your mind," Steve answers, and he's already starting to walk away. On the one hand, Tony does love to watch Steve walk away, but he'd rather Steve stay and talk a while. The shop has slowed down, he could take the time.

But clearly he doesn't want to.

Rhodey is staring at him when Tony turns back, and he blinks.

"What was that?"

Tony shrugs. "See, I told you, he has to be nice to me."

"No, see, that wasn't 'nice to you', Tony, that was 'doesn't want to be here'. If he was being nice to you because he felt obligated, he'd have stuck around to be nice to you. So what'd you do?"

"What?" Tony splutters. "Why do you assume I did something?"

"Because all you talk about is how nice Steve is, how generous and kind and friendly, but every time _I'm_ here, he's not all that nice. He just stares at you, looking all sad. So, did he ask you out and you said no because you're a moron?"

"What?" Tony hisses. "No. Rhodey, _no_ , of course not – keep your _voice_ down – of course he didn't ask me out. I _told_ you, he doesn't want to date me!"

Rhodey snorts. "You're the dumbest genius I've ever met."

 

+++++

 

On the fifth daily BFF meeting, Tony gets hit on — and not by the person he'd _like_ to get hit on. They're talking about work (for once), when Rhodey's focus shifts slightly up from Tony's face, and Tony turns his head to see what Rhodey's looking at.

He'd expected to see a staff member — he can see Steve at the counter, but it could have been Clint or Bucky, or even Natasha stopping in for a tea, since she seems to have become a fixture in the Brewed Awakening crew's life.

Instead, it's a woman he doesn't recognize. Well, that's not entirely true — after a moment, he realizes it's the woman who has been here every morning for the past week, plugging away on a laptop a few tables away.

She gives him a smile, and he can't decide what's off about it, except that there's something. It's almost predatory, which is usually a pretty good indicator of what's about to happen, in his experience.

Sure enough, she completely ignores Rhodey, and stands beside Tony's chair, smiling down at him.

"Hi," she says, voice full of a familiarity she hasn't earned. "You're Tony Stark, aren't you?"

Tony glances back at Rhodey, who has a 'come on, really, with this?' expression on his face. "That's me, the one and only."

He glances over to the counter, and Steve is standing there, watching them. He seems to be wringing a dish towel in his hands.

"Wow. I can't believe I'm meeting Tony Stark," she gushes. "I'm such a fan of what you've been doing with the StarkPhone lately."

"That's great to hear," he says distractedly, ignoring the fact that they haven't updated the StarkPhone in almost a year. Tony pulls Rhodey's pen out of his hand and scribbles his signature on a napkin. Obviously, it's an autograph seeker. It doesn't happen all the time, but it's been becoming more frequent since Forbes' spread on his – and Stark Resilient's – rise.

"Oh, yes, I'm a huge fan," she says, gaze intense on his. "Honestly, I've always thought you and I would get along very well."

"Oh?" Tony hands her the napkin with his 'paparazzi' smile – all flashing teeth and dead eyes.

"I think we have a lot in common," she says. She barely looks at the signed napkin, shoving it into her pocket with little reverence, gaze still locked on his. She doesn't move to go back to her own table, instead just standing there, as though waiting for him to continue the conversation.

"It was nice to meet you, miss," he says, opting to shed the idea of subtlety.

She blinks at him, and then her face transforms. It's not a look of embarrassment or disappointment, which is what he would have expected. Instead, her face flashes with anger, before she schools it to settle on 'mildly annoyed'.

"We're just in the middle of a business meeting, here, so you'll have to excuse us," Rhodey pipes up, eyes flicking between the woman and Tony.

She doesn't even look at him, instead just staring at Tony for another long, awkward moment, then turning and, somewhat huffily, collecting her laptop, her purse, and her jacket, and stomping out of the store.

"Wow," Rhodey says after a long moment. "That was… weird."

Before Tony can say much else, Steve is there, looking concerned. "Everything okay over here?" he asks. "That woman – she wasn't bothering you, was she?"

"No, no, not a big deal," Tony says.

"She just came over to hit on him," Rhodey says. "I think. It was kind of weird."

Steve snorts. "Really? But you two are obviously sitting _right here_ , together. Why would she think that's okay?"

Tony gives him a quizzical look. "I mean, it's not the _first_ time a stranger has hit on me, Steve."

"Of course not, it wouldn't be, but with Rhodes right there?"

"What do I have to do with it?" Rhodey asks, eyes narrowing.

Steve looks confused for a moment. "Well, I mean – you two are…"

He trails off, but his hand waves to indicate the space between Rhodey and Tony. As though to indicate there is something _between_ Rhodey and Tony.

As though he thinks Rhodey and Tony are… a 'Rhodey and Tony'.

Tony can't help it. He's so caught off guard by the ridiculousness of it that he bursts out laughing – wild, braying guffaws.

Steve blinks, looking confused and almost a little hurt. "What? Why are you laughing?"

Rhodey looks smug as he crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head at Tony, waiting to see how Tony will deal with this insane scenario.

"You honestly think – me and _Rhodey_?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Rhodey asks, though Tony knows he doesn't mean anything by it.

"Aw, I'm sorry, sugarplum, you know I'd be yours in a hot minute if you weren't so tragically straight."

"That's better," Rhodey sniffs.

"But you – you literally _just_ called him 'sugarplum,'" Steve says, still looking confused – and a little wild around the eyes.

"Right," Tony says, not sure what that has to do with anything. "He's my best friend. But we're not – we're not an _us_."

Steve blinks. "You don't just – people don't just call platonic friends 'sugarplum' and 'honeybear' and – what was it last week? 'Sugarcrisp'? Those are ridiculous nicknames, what was I supposed to think?"

"I call _all_ my friends ridiculous nicknames. It's what I _do_."

Steve blinks and then, somehow, seems to look a little bit disappointed. "You've never called me anything but my name."

Tony stares. "Is that… do you not want me to call you by your name?"

"It's just, I mean, I thought maybe we were almost – not that I want to assume, but I thought we were friendly enough that you'd – think of me like that. As a friend."

He seems awkward about it, like he's not sure what he wants to say. Or if he should say it at all.

Tony, of course, immediately feels like a heel. He'd like nothing better than to be Steve's friend – except, perhaps, being Steve's boyfriend. Of course, he can't _say_ that because it's not on the table. Instead, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "Of course I think of you as a friend!" Which is entirely a lie because Tony most definitely thinks of Steve as more than a friend. However, all he can _hope_ for is to be Steve's friend, and he doesn't really deserve more than that, so the words stand as they are.

"Right. Of course," Steve says, and now he looks disappointed again? What the hell? Either the guy wants to be his friend, or he doesn't. "So then, you two…?"

Tony rolls his eyes. Really, with this? "Me and Rhodey? No. That's… that's a hard no. Rhodey is very much interested in the womenfolk," he says. "The menfolk, not so much. I mean, I'll take anything that walks by and winks at me…"

It's a joke, but Steve doesn't look like he finds it very funny.

"Maybe 10 years ago," Rhodey shrugs, shaking his head. "You've changed, man. You're a disappointment to players everywhere."

Tony snorts. "Yeah, well, most players don't have a baby at home."

"A baby? A _baby_ , Tony? Casey is _four_. He's not a baby. You're such a neurotic weirdo. Helicopter parents look at you and get sad."

"Hey!" Tony says, but there's no heat behind it. He's grown to be comfortable with his level of hovering when it comes to Casey. "I think I've grown as a person," he continues. "I found him a nanny that I leave him alone with, didn't I?"

"Right, but isn't she a former special ops ninja or something?" Rhodey fires back.

"Or something."

"Nat's great," Steve agrees. Rhodey and Tony turn to stare at him.

"What?" He asks. "She's close with Clint. And she brings Casey in sometimes after school. She's really good with him, which is good, he's such a great kid."

Rhodey turns back to Tony and stares at him, expression blank but somehow conveying 'what is happening right now?'

"See, Steve gets it," Tony says haughtily. "My kid is the best kid, and deserves all the people around him to love and protect him as he deserves to be loved and protected."

"You're both ridiculous," Rhodey says, exasperated as he stands up from the table, tossing back the last of his coffee with a deep swallow. "You deserve each other."

And then he walks out, leaving Tony and Steve to stare after him.

Tony _has_ to change the subject, he knows. Something safer. Something that pulls Steve's focus away from Rhodey's comment — a comment for which Tony will later murder him, of course. But Tony is so stunned that Rhodey would have the _gall_ , that he can't quite come up with anything.

"Well," Steve says, slightly uncomfortable and awkward, because of course he would be, after that. "I'd better get back to –" he cuts himself off, but jerks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the counter. The counter which is dead, with no customers, and not even the barest hint of a mess that might need wiping.

"Right!" Tony says. "I should, uh, head into the office, anyway. No rest for the wicked!"

They give each other awkward smiles and waves, and then Tony high tails it out of there. If he's lucky, he can catch up to Rhodey and push him in front of a bus or something.

 

+++++

 

The following night, Tony wakes up at around two in the morning from a dream about flying. The night after that, it's a nightmare about losing Casey. He decides to lay off the spicy foods before bed – even though he can't think of anything spicy he's eaten in the past week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4905/45129167965_0b7c33aab9_b.jpg).


	6. Chapter 6

**Clinterlude**

Clint strides into the office. Enough is enough. They need to deal with this shit because seriously, he can't take it anymore. Bucky is sitting at the desk, tallying up something or other and inputting numbers into the complicated-looking spreadsheets that are up on the laptop screen. Clint walks up to the desk, slaps his hands down on the surface, and stares at Bucky directly in the eye.  
  
"We need to talk about Steve," Clint says seriously.   
  
Bucky pauses, looks up at Clint, and raises an eyebrow. "What did the punk do this time?"  
  
"It's what he _hasn't_ done," Clint whines, flopping himself dramatically into the chair across from Bucky. "It's what he's absolutely _refusing_ to do, and I can _not_ deal with it any more."   
  
Natasha strides in behind him, and perches herself on the edge of the desk, arms folded across her chest.   
  
"Ah. You mean about Tony," Bucky says.  
  
" _Yes_ , I mean about Tony. It's unbearable. I don't understand how they can both be so oblivious."  
  
"It's less about being oblivious, and more about being in denial," Natasha pipes in.  
  
"You were pretty oblivious that I was into you," Bucky reminded him.  
  
Clint scoffs and waves him off. "That's not the same. I didn't know you were into guys, you can't blame me for that."  
  
"Even still, you could have seen that he was into you," Natasha tells him. "I saw it within minutes of meeting both of you. It was adorable, really."  
  
"Yeah, well, not everyone has your crazy psychic superpowers." Clint waves her off and then pauses. "Wait, is that why you told him that you and I were only going to be friends? 'Cause that seemed like a weird thing to say, but hey, who am I to judge?"  
  
Natasha rolls her eyes, but punches his shoulder fondly, and Bucky clears his throat. "Back to the subject of Steve."  
  
"Right, Steve. Okay. This _afternoon_." Clint shakes his head. "We were busy in Manhattan, and the cannoli were selling like mad. I don't know what was going on, but like, it was Cannoli-For-Everyone free for all or something. But, whatever, I thought it was fine, because that means people like the cannoli. But then Steve walks past the display case, and sees that we're down to the last one. I swear he nearly tripped over himself trying to get it out of the case as fast as possible to tuck it away. And do you want to know _why_ Steve nearly broke his neck trying to rescue the last cannoli?"  
  
"Because Tony?" Bucky asks flatly.   
  
"Because _Tony_ ," Clint throws his hands up in exasperation, then deepens the pitch of his voice and affects a ridiculously over-the-top Brooklyn accent that doesn't sound anything like Steve, yet is pretty obviously supposed to sound like Steve. "'Oh, but Tony hasn't been _in_ yet, today! And he _loves_ cannoli.' And I thought, seriously, he can't know for sure that Tony is coming in today, can he? Except turns out he _can_ because Tony comes in every. Single. Day. For coffee, sure, Steve makes a damn good brew. But also to _flirt shamelessly_. I swear, watching them, it's like a contest, who can make the other blush more. It's almost nauseating. And they will not stop looking at each other. And then! You know what Tony said today?"  
  
Bucky shakes his head, but Natasha smiles bemusedly, as though she knows what's coming. Clint barrels on. "He said that after the last time Casey was in, when he was talking to Steve about art and drawing – because, you know, Steve is hanging out with Tony's _kid_ and teaching him about _art_ – Tony said that Casey's been working on a _super special_ drawing, and he can't wait to show Steve."  
  
"Oh, holy fuck," Bucky groans. "They're like a little family already. The most aggressively oblivious little family in the world."  
  
"Right? You see what I have to live with?"  
  
"What _we_ have to live with. We're both stuck with him."  
  
"Right. So. That's it. I'm done. We've reached critical mass, and we have got to do something about these two idiots. Because not even _I_ am this oblivious."  
  
"Well, you are a little," Natasha shrugs.  
  
"You are," Bucky agrees. "But we never would have reached that point because I would have eventually just kissed you to get my point across."  
  
"You didn't notice that he was into you either," Natasha pointed out.  
  
"Not the point. Clint, your new BFF is the worst."  
  
"I know, isn't she great?" Clint beams up at Nat, and she reaches over and ruffles his hair. "But seriously, Bucky. Enough is enough. We need to tell Steve to get his head out of his ass and do something." It's honestly painful to watch, and seriously, Clint has had enough. He just wants Steve to be happy, and seeing Steve with Tony and with Casey is the happiest Clint has seen him in longer than he can remember.  
  
"We can't just tell him that, we have to be smart about it," Bucky tells him.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, trust me. If we tell him how he feels, or try and strong arm him into this, he's just going to reject it, clam up and pull away even more." Bucky shakes his head. "No, he has to think it's his idea."  
  
Clint groan. "Why can't Steve just be uncomplicated? Just this one time?"  
  
"Because none of us are uncomplicated, doll. Least of all Steve."  
  
"Tony is the same," Natasha speaks up. "I haven't talked to him much about it, but Rhodey has. And Tony is just as scared to get involved with Steve, for his own reasons."  
  
Clint groans in defeat and drops his head to the desk, banging it lightly against the wood. Bucky reaches over and gently scratches his head. God, it feels good. They need to find a way to get Steve and Tony together, if only for the fact that Steve deserves to have someone give him head scratches when he's feeling stressed.  
  
"Tony and Steve are blind to what's right in front of them – but fortunately, I have a plan," Natasha informs them.  
  
"You do?" Clint and Bucky ask simultaneously. Clint sits up and stares over at her in anticipation. Seriously, if she has an honest-to-god solution for this mutual pining shit show that they're all living through, Clint might very well just kiss her. Surely Bucky would understand.   
  
"Tony has a meeting in Rochester with a tech start up in a few days," she informs them. "He said he wants to drive, take the day to see the countryside."

"Okay..." Clint says, confused. "I don't see what that has to do with Steve?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I'll tell you when you're older. Nat, that'll work. I'll figure something out. Meet us at the shop tomorrow morning?"

Natasha nods in agreement.

Clint has no idea what they're going to end up doing, but damn, he's just glad it's _something._

 

+++++

 

True to her word, Natasha wanders into the Manhattan shop the next morning while Clint is piling fresh baked goods into the case. It's actually been nice that he and Bucky have had a chance to spend more time in the Manhattan shop, now that the new hires are comfortable enough to work without them around in Brooklyn. It's good to get to know the new building, and, as great as having a second location is, he's missed working together, all three of them, like the old days.

Natasha orders her tea from Steve, who's up at the till, and as Clint starts pouring the hot water into a mug – the cat one because it's Natasha's favourite and she always smiles a little to herself when she gets it – and watches the way that Steve glances over her shoulder to the street outside. "This better work," Bucky mutters beside him. He, too, is watching Steve and shaking his head.

Natasha steps to the side and grabs her tea, taking a seat at a table close to the counter. A few minutes later, Tony walks in, right on schedule, and Steve visibly perks up. This would be so much easier if they could just corner Steve into telling Tony how he feels, but Bucky knows him best, and also he's right. They try that, and Steve is going to end up doing a solid impression of a clam on roller skates and that will be the end of it. They'll be stuck in Steve-making-sad-puppy-faces hell forever. Or worse, they'll fuck things up entirely and one of them will pull away, and this whole dynamic they've built between all of them – which Clint really likes, okay? – will all come crashing down around them. No, Bucky's right. Painful as it is to have to wait, they need to be smart.

"Hey, Tony," Steve greets, already pouring Tony's coffee.

"Light of my life," Tony says in reply, blushing a little even as he says it. "The coffee, I mean." Clint wants to strangle them both.

At that moment, Bucky makes a very obvious point of checking his phone, and then cheers. "Hey, great news!"

Clint furrows his brow in genuine confusion. "Uh, okay. What's that?" Steve also stops his conversation with Tony and looks over with interest.

"There is a distributor in Rochester who's willing to work with us and give us a hell of a good deal on maple syrup."

Clint's eyes widen with excitement. "Really? The good shi – er, the good stuff?"

Bucky nods. "Yeah, Grade A, very dark, exactly what you're looking for."

Clint does a little dance behind the counter and hugs Bucky tightly. "You're the best."

"I am. She'd prefer to meet in person to discuss terms and sign the contract. We should get it done sooner rather than later."

"Why Rochester? Aren't there closer suppliers?"

"Well, sure," Bucky shrugs. "But they're all going to be a hell of a lot more expensive. This is the best deal for the quality and type that we want."

Steve blinks in confusion. "There are different types of syrup?"

"Of course!" Clint crows. "The colour relates to how maple-y it is. I want the darkest stuff 'cause it's got the strongest maple flavour, and it'll be the best for baking. Ohh – I could try out that maple walnut bundt cake I was thinking about. Anyway, the stuff's expensive, generally, but the quality is worth it. So it would be awesome to get a line on some more affordable stuff."

"Okay, so, we have to go to Rochester to meet with her?"

"Ideally, yes. It would be really great if you could." Bucky tells him.

"Me? It sounds like you or Clint knows a lot more about this than I do."

"Well, Clint can't really go until next week, because he's supposed to be teaching Angela some of the baking side of things. And I've got all kinds of appointments this week that I really don't want to reschedule. I know it's a huge thing, but it really would be great to set this up."

"Yeah, of course. Definitely," Steve agrees. Clint very carefully doesn't throw both hands up in the air in a victory dance. "Let me know what day works for her, and I'll book a car."

"Any day, she's around all week," Bucky tells him.

"Oh, well, in that case," Tony breaks in, sipping at his coffee, "I actually have to go to Rochester on Thursday for a meeting. I was thinking of driving up for a change of scenery. I could take you? The company might be nice."

Clint opens his mouth to say something excited, but Bucky steps on his foot and glares. Right. Don't say anything. He holds his breath instead.

"Really?" Steve asks, turning back to Tony.

"Yeah. There's a tech start-up there we're meeting with about a project we're looking to get going on. So I booked a meeting with them to tour the space and throw some ideas around. I don't really want to be away from Casey overnight, so I was going to leave first thing in the morning and come back that night."

"Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" Steve asks carefully neutral.

"Not at all," Tony assures him. "Like I said, I'd love the company. I'll bring the car, you bring the coffee, we'll make a day of it."

"Alright, yeah, that sounds good."

It takes all of Clint's self control not to whoop with glee, but he glances over at Nat, who's wearing an expression of smug satisfaction.

Mission. Fucking. Accomplished.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**December**

All the way up until the moment that Tony picks him up that morning, Steve is kicking himself for ever agreeing to this stupid trip. It's a five hour drive up to Rochester, which means ten hours that he's going to be trapped in a car with Tony. Ten hours where he's going to have to fight not to fall more in love, because he'll admit it to himself, even if he's not ready to admit it to anyone else that yeah, he's fallen in love with Tony since the summer.

Ten hours of close quarters, one-on-one interaction, and the car full of the scent of Tony – vanilla, spice, coffee and a hint of motor oil. Ten hours where he's going to have to try not to make an ass of himself, or let it slip how he feels.

But as soon as Tony arrives at the shop to pick him up – coffee, after all – all of the anxiety fades away, and the drive upstate is wonderful. It's a bright, crisp, early December day, and while they spend most of the drive talking, they also enjoy a few quiet moments that are somehow still comfortable. Steve finds himself thinking how _content_ he is, how right it feels.

Tony had dropped him off at his meeting with the distributor, they traded numbers, and with a promise to call when he was done his own meeting, Tony left. It was well on the way to being a great day.

Or it was, until he stepped outside several hours later and saw the sky fully overcast and the wind picking up. "Storm's blowing in from the lakes," Vanessa, their new maple syrup distributor warns him. "If you plan on making it back to the city tonight, you better leave now or you're not going to make it."

At that moment, Tony pulls up in the vehicle, and Steve thanks her, shakes her hand, and jumps into the car.

"Weather reports are calling for snow," Tony tells him.

"Yeah, we should get out now and try and beat it." Tony looks mildly disappointed, and Steve looks at him quizzically. "What is it?"

"Nothing, just, there was a neat sounding bistro I wanted to take you to for a late-lunch-slash-early-dinner before we headed out. My guy recommended it to me."

Dinner with Tony sounds amazing, but the sky's quickly growing even darker, and the first few flakes of snow are already starting to fall.

"Rain check?" Steve asks apologetically. "I know you want to get home to Casey tonight."

"Yeah, I really do," Tony admits, grimacing. "I've never been away from him overnight. I know that sounds dumb, and –"

"It doesn't sound dumb," Steve tells him. "It sounds like you're a dad who loves his son, and doesn't want him to worry."

Tony nods in agreement. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not. We can always grab something along the way, or back in the city. New York – always something open."

"Thanks, Steve," Tony says with such gratitude at Steve's understanding, it melts Steve's heart a little.

They make it as far as Syracuse before the storm gets really bad. The temperature drops rapidly, and all the snow that had hit the road and melted has re-frozen. Steve sends a text to Natasha letting her know that they might be a little later than expected as Tony slows down on the interstate, but they press on. Tony's anxiety is palpable, not only because of the weather, but because he just wants to get home to Casey. Or at least, that's what Steve is assuming. They talk a lot less than they did on the way up, Tony focused on the road as he is.

Tony really is a good, safe driver. He takes all the right precautions, slows down for conditions, the whole nine yards. So it's just shitty luck that Tony hits a patch of black ice the wrong way and the car spins out of control.

Tony tries to get it back, but it's a lost cause. The car careens off the road, hits a windrow, and rolls into the ditch. It happens so fast that it's over before Steve knows what's happened.

He scrambles to undo his seat belt and shove the door open. He needs to make sure his team is okay. Bucky. Clint. His knee gives out as he tries to climb out of the vehicle, and the sand burns his hands as he tried to push himself up. He tries to stand, but his knee buckles again. He cries out, and swears, dragging himself through the sand as he tries to find his team. There's glass and shrapnel everywhere, but he doesn't care. He needs to find – he needs –

"Steve, I'm right here," a voice says. He feels hands grab his shoulders, arms wrap around him and hold him. "It's Tony. Stay with me."

Tony. There's no Tony in his squad. The only Tony he knows is –

"– Tony." He breathes, heart pounding hard and fast in his chest.

Yes, Tony. Tony, who thinks his coffee is the best he's ever had. Tony, whose smile lights up an entire room. Tony, who makes him feel alive. Steve shakes his head and reality settles back in. It's cold snow that's burning his hands, not sand. Tony is staring at him, wide eyed and afraid. "Tony, are you okay?" Steve takes Tony's face in his hands and checks him over.

"I'm fine, Steve. I'm fine. Just banged up. God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean – I'm sorry."

Tony's upset. That's not right. "Hey, it's okay, Tony, we're both okay," Steve tells him. They sit like that for a moment, holding each other while their brains try and orient themselves to what's happened. The car landed upright, but it's smashed to hell and in a ditch. There's no way they're getting it out without a truck.

Steve's brain snaps into gear and suddenly, he's thinking with perfect clarity. This is a crisis, and he needs to make sure his people get out of it and to safety, even if 'his people' is just Tony at the moment. "We need to get out of the snow, we'll freeze out here." The driver's side door is still open from where Tony climbed out, and Steve drags himself up into a sitting position on the seat. He reaches over to the passenger side of the car where he'd been sitting, and grabs the sweater he'd tucked onto the floor. "Here," he says, passing the sweater over to Tony. "Put this on, you need to stay warm."

Tony takes the sweater and pulls it on without complaint.

"Okay," Steve says, steadying his nerves and letting his brain fall back into its crisis mode reflexes. "We need to call for help."

Tony pulls out his phone, looks at it, and swears. "Fucking fuck. How is there no signal? What good is a phone with no signal? I swear to god, as soon as we're out of this I'm going to make something better. Fucking middle of nowhere, fucking blizzard messing with my reception."

"It's alright, there was a motel a little less than a mile back. We can head there. I doubt anyone is going to be on the road in this weather." Somehow, just in the last couple of minutes the snow and the wind have gotten far worse. It's a total white out and they're lucky they can see the road to follow. Normally, it would be smarter to stay in the car until the storm passed, but all the windows are shattered, so it's not like the car provides much shelter, and they don't have a survival kit in the back. They can manage the less than a mile back up the highway.

Steve moves to stand, but the moment he puts his weight on his right leg, his knee screams with pain and gives out. He collapses, barely managing to brace himself against the car to keep from completely ending up in the snow again.

"Steve? Are you alright?" Tony scrambles to his side, heedless of the fact that he is kneeling in the snow and it's soaking through his jeans.

"Fine," Steve grits out through his teeth.

"Well, that's a lie if I've ever heard one," Tony responds flatly.

"Will be fine," Steve amends. "Just my knee. Must have jarred it in the crash. It's an old injury. Thought it had healed."

"It probably has, but it's fun how those things can flare up when the weather starts playing the human version of kick the can. Can you walk?"

Steve shakes his head. "Not without help."

"Right, then." A moment later, Tony is worming his way up under Steve's right side, and Steve slides his arm around Tony's shoulders. "Come on, soldier."

It's a tough slog, crawling out of the ditch and back up onto the road. Steve has to lean more of his weight on Tony than he'd like, but it's the only way he can manage to drag his beaten body through the drifts and back onto stable ground. It's easier going from there – somewhat – but the snow is piling up, swirling around their ankles, making every step harder. Even with Tony helping to keep the weight off his knee, it hurts like hell and every step is agony. But they keep going. Ahead, through the swirling mess of snow, Steve sees the lights of the motel at the edge of town, maybe half a mile away now. It's going to be one of the longest half miles of his life. Briefly, he contemplates whether it's worse to trudge through the sand in the blazing sun, or through snow in the frigid cold. Both, is the answer. Both are horrible. But both are made better when he isn't alone. In the desert, he had his crew. He had Bucky, and Clint. In the blizzard, he has Tony, a warm support at his side, keeping him upright. Reminding him that he isn't alone out here. Tony grounds him in a way that means more than he's capable of expressing, especially since, really, he's focused on putting on foot in front of the other, and again, and again. Less than a quarter mile now. He can feel the wind biting into his bones and joints and it aches something fierce. Beside him, Tony keeps up a steady litany of words.

"You know this is totally not how I pictured this day ending," Tony huffs, his breath a little strained.

"Pretty sure no one plans to get caught in a blizzard," Steve replies, feeling light despite the pain and the mess they're in. "It came on damned quick though."

"Yeah. I didn't agree to this. I want a refund," Tony says.

Steve turns to him and cocks his head. "A refund on the weather?"

"Duh," Tony says like it should be obvious.

"Right. Well, we'll call mother nature, how about? Right after we call the tow truck."

"I like how you think. Lodge a formal complaint with management."

"In my experience, you don't have a great track record with lodging complaints with management," Steve teases.

Tony waves him off with a free hand. "You're an exception. I even admitted I was wrong!"

"Mighty big of you," Steve laughs. How the hell is it possible to laugh when he's limping through eight inches of drifting snow and shivering so hard his teeth are almost chattering. How is it even possible that in the middle of this freezing shit show, Tony still makes him laugh? It has to be a superpower, clearly, and has nothing to do with the way that Tony makes him feel every time he's around.

"Oh look, we've almost made it to... The Pine Cove Inn? Seriously?"

"Don't knock it, it looks warm. And they probably have a phone."

"Touché."

As they stumble the last few yards up to the door, Steve glances behind them, and he can hardly even see the tracks they've left in the snow, it's coming down so hard, and blowing around so much. Steve lets Tony lead him inside, and they are immediately greeted by a "What the hell are you boys doing out there? Jesus, get in here and close the door!"

The warmth of the lobby is quite possibly the most incredible thing Steve has ever experienced in his life, and he openly sighs in relief. The late-middle-aged man with a greying beard who'd exclaimed their arrival hurried out from behind the front desk and over to them. "You okay there, son? Here, grab a chair." Steve sinks gratefully into the plush chair, and tries very hard not to move his knee.

"I'm okay," Steve tells the stranger.

"Uh huh. Sure you are." The man said, clearly not buying it. "You boys look like you got yourselves in a right mess. What happened?"

"Ice on the highway happened."

The man's eyes widen. "You crash?"

Tony nods in reply. "Hit some black ice, spun out, tire clipped a windrow. Little less than a mile from here."

"You're lucky it wasn't further than that," the man says, and guides Tony over to a chair of his own beside Steve before Tony can protest. "Here, lemme look you over."

"We're fine, just banged up," Tony protests, waving the kind stranger off.

"Lots of guys say that," Steve speaks quietly. "Sometimes they're right. Sometimes it's the shock talkin'. Insisting they're fine and they don't realise they're bleeding out." He can feel the adrenaline still coursing through himself, and knows from experience the crash is still a ways off. But it'll come. For both of them. Tony looks at him with an expression that's somewhere around the mark of sober realization. Steve tries to give him a gentle smile.

"Name's Fred," the man says as he grabs a pocket flashlight from his hip and shines it into Tony's eyes. "Anything hurt...?"

"Tony," Tony provides. "And no, nothing hurts." Fred nods, and makes a point to check Tony over for any signs of bleeding, and Steve breathes a quiet sigh of relief when he finds nothing. Satisfied that Tony is at least superficially okay, he turns to Steve and repeats the whole process, taking care about Steve's knee.

"Gonna have to keep that leg up. You should probably ice it, but that can wait until you warm up and dry off. I've got some Tylenol, you'll need it. Keep an eye on your abdomens, and if they start hurting, or if there's any bruising that starts to form you let me know ASAP. Might be internal injuries. Where were you boys headed?"

"Back to New York," Steve says.

"Well then, I better get you set up in a room for the night. You're not making it back there tonight."

"Excuse me?" Tony says, horrified realisation dawning across his face. "What do you mean we're not getting back there tonight?"

Fred looks at him apologetically, and shrugs. "Storm's bad. Highways are closed, your car's in a ditch. You're not going to get a tow truck tonight, let alone a ride anywhere." Tony continues to stare helplessly at Fred, who reaches over and pats Tony's shoulder gently. "You boys are safe, and sheltered. You ain't a high priority for emergency services. By morning, it should be snowed out and the roads cleared."

"But. I can't. I can't not be home. It's not possible. Casey – he – you don't understand, he's never been alone overnight before. _Never_. I told him I'd be home to tuck him in. I promised him." The pitch in Tony's voice is rising, his eyes widening as panic and hysteria threaten to overtake his reason. As long as Steve has known Tony, Casey is the only thing that makes him respond like that. Just the thought of his son not being okay sends him into an overprotective panic.

Steve reaches over and sets his hand gently on Tony's arm. "He's not alone, Tony. Nat's with him, remember? She'll stay with him for the night. And if she can't for whatever reason, then Clint and Bucky can."

"Oh god, no," Tony whines. "Do not let them near my child when I'm not there to tell him what ridiculous humans they are, and they go off and teach him whatever they want willy nilly."

" _You're_ a ridiculous human, Tony," Steve points out.

Tony waves him, but his voice is a little calmer. "Different. I'm his dad, he's allowed my kinds of ridiculous."

"Okay, I'll accept that," Steve chuckles. "But seriously, Tony. Call Nat. She'll understand, and she'll stay with him. He'll be in the safest possible hands, next to yours. That's why you hired her. You can still video call him and say goodnight, and they're going to have a blast. It'll be like a slumber party. He and Nat will build a pillow fort or something, and camp out in the living room, and when you get home tomorrow he'll tell you all about it. And everything will be okay."

Tony takes a deep breath, and then another, willing himself calm. "Okay. Right. You're right. He is in good hands."

"Go call him, Tony," Steve encourages. "Now. You'll feel better."

Tony doesn't argue. He checks his phone to make sure he has service – which of course he does, even though it's barely up the highway from where he had no service at all – and heads over towards the closed off dining area to make his call.

Steve watches from across the lobby, watches the way that Tony's face shifts from anxious, to apologetic, to a laugh – presumably at something Casey says to him. It's beautiful to watch. "Kid at home?" Fred asks.

Steve nods. "Yeah. His little boy is four. He's a single dad. He's a bit protective, worries a lot about his kid."

"Parenting ain't easy," Fred agrees.

"No, I imagine not. But, he's a really good dad. The two of them together, it's precious to see."

"You got any of your own?"

Steve shakes his head. "Nah, not really in the cards right now."

Fred glances at Tony, and hums thoughtfully, but doesn't say anything more on the subject, which Steve is grateful for. He doesn't want to accidentally start spilling his guts to a stranger, telling Fred that it's not in the cards because all he can think about when he thinks of having a family of his own is Tony and Casey. And that's not going to happen, so he shoves it out of his mind entirely.

Fred excuses himself, leaving Steve alone in the lobby, save for the soft side of Tony's conversation he can hear drifting through the quiet space. Tony is still talking, holding the phone out in front of himself a few minutes later when he makes his way back across the lobby, and perches himself on the arm of Steve's chair.

"Casey the goober wanted to say good night to you," Tony says, holding up the phone so Steve can see Casey and Natasha on the screen.

"Hi Steve!" Casey waves his little hand so hard it looks like it might fly right off. "Daddy says that you're stuck in a snowstorm."

"Yeah, unfortunately that's true," Steve says apologetically.

"Are you okay?" A little crease appears along Casey's forehead as he squints at Steve, studying him hard.

"Yeah, we're both okay. I promise. I'm sorry that your dad can't be home tonight like he promised," Steve apologises.

Casey looks at him carefully for a moment, and then smiles bright and wide. The smile that looks so much like Tony's, it almost takes his breath away. "It's okay. I have Miss Natasha, and Daddy has you. So neither of us will be alone, or scared. You promise to keep my Daddy safe?"

"I promise," Steve says, drawing an X over his heart.

"Then it's okay!" Casey nods firmly.

"Well, I'm glad that's settled," Tony chimes in. "Now you, mister, should be going to bed. It is your bedtime after all."

"Okay," Casey responds reluctantly. "Love you, Daddy."

"Love you, too, Case."

With that, the phone call ends, and Tony lets out a shaky breath. "He's okay," Tony tells himself.

"He _is_ okay," Steve agrees. "Nat's got him, he's in good hands. We're safe. It's okay."

"Yeah," Tony says, glancing down at Steve's leg. "Except you're hurt. Because I'm a selfish idiot who pressed through a storm. Like an idiot."

"Hey, none of that," Steve tells him sharply. "I could have told you to stop."

"But you didn't, because you knew how much I wanted to get home to Casey."

"And because I didn't think the storm would get that bad that quickly. Casey or no, if I thought it was unsafe, I would have told you. I'm not about putting people I care about at risk. I've had enough of that in my life, thank you."

Tony looks like he's about to say something else, but at that moment Fred comes back.

"Called the local tow truck company. They'll be out working all night but they should be able to get to you in the morning. Made you boys some sandwiches. The kitchen is closed, sent the staff home when we saw the weather report. It's not much but it's better than nothing." He holds out a couple of plates stacked high with sandwiches, that at this point look like the most delicious things Steve had ever seen. "Also got the keys to your room. We're booked up solid, again cause of the weather. All I've got left is the honeymoon suite."

"The... honeymoon suite," Tony says, his voice tightening.

Steve reaches over and takes the keys. "Thank you for your hospitality. Honestly, we really appreciate everything."

The honeymoon suite. He can _never_ let Bucky and Clint know about this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4899/31101925637_c2c8e2297c_b.jpg).


	8. Chapter 8

**December**

They are both shivering by the time they reach the room. They've reached the point where they've warmed up just enough to realize how chilled to the core they are. Tony is less than thrilled that they're stuck in the honeymoon suite. Not that is he isn't immensely grateful to have a warm place to sleep after how sideways the day had gone, but come on. The _Honeymoon Suite._ It's as if the universe is intentionally taunting him. He's already out of sorts, stressed, upset, emotional, and now, to top it all off, he's stuck for the night in a Honeymoon Suite, with the man that he's definitely not pining over. He can already hear Rhodey taunting him about it. Stupid best friends. Speaking of Rhodey, he should probably text him and let him know that he's okay. He's got a few unanswered messages on his phone, and they have a deal to check in with each other once they've arrived safely where they're going. Rhodey is going to hit the panic zone shortly. He takes thirty seconds and fires off a message, leaving out the part about crashing the car, because really, Rhodey doesn't need to worry that much when there isn't a damn thing that he can do. He'll call Rhodey in the morning and ask for a pick up. And then promptly glare him to death if he dreams of saying anything about Steve and Tony sharing a room. A room that only has one bed. Because Honeymoon Suite.

Steve had been pretty easy going about the whole thing. He'd taken the key from Fred, and told Tony it was fine, all he wanted was a hot shower and bed. Only now, as Tony watches Steve sitting on a chair, wincing as he tries to pull his soaking wet jeans off, he realises that a hot shower isn't going to be a straightforward thing, what with Steve's inability to stand. There is, however, Tony discovers, a tub. A very large tub. Big enough for two people. With jets. Lots, and lots of jets. It's the kind of tub they could have a _lot_ of fun in – but, of course, they won't.

"Bath might be easier, you won't have to stand," Tony points out as he crouches next to the chair and helps Steve wiggle out of his pants. The Universe really must hate him, because this is definitely not the scenario he'd pictured himself getting Steve out of his clothes. The ones he'd entertained in his fantasies – quiet moments in the dark when he was alone – involved a lot more kissing, a lot more hands on both sides, and a lot more pushing up against walls and grinding of hips together.

Steve looks about as awkward as Tony feels, but he accepts the help gratefully. "You might be right," he concedes. Once Steve is down to his underwear, Tony awkwardly offers a shoulder for Steve to brace himself on and helps him to the bathroom. Tony reflexively wraps an arm around Steve's waist to support him. He'd like to strip his cold, wet slacks off, but he knows that's a bad idea, considering what _he's_ wearing for underwear. Steve, at least, is wearing sensible, comfortable-looking boxer shorts. Really, they're completely unattractive, and he's so glad for that because the last thing he needs right now is to have to look at Steve in something sexy. It's bad enough as it is.

While helping Steve into the bathroom, Tony regrets all of his life choices that have led him to this moment. Most recently, he regrets having Steve undress before they got to the tub. He hadn't considered what having Steve's bare skin under his hands – even just to help him walk – would be like. It's bad enough that he can see Steve like this, with all his coiled strength; the way his defined muscles move under his skin, the way his broad shoulders shift, the strong, defined thighs. The sight is enough to make Tony want to put his mouth on every inch of Steve's skin, to map it out, to leave a trail of kisses down Steve's back, to suck a mark on the inside of his thigh. But feeling Steve's heat pressed against his body – that's even worse. As cold as they both are, Tony feels a heat and a want surge through him. It takes an alarming amount of self control to keep his body from responding inappropriately. It's okay, he just has to get Steve to the tub, one step at a time. Don't think about how nice Steve feels, or how nice it is to have some semblance of shared warmth. It's the longest 15 feet of his life.

Somehow, they manage to get there without Tony embarrassing himself with either a poorly-timed erection or by dropping to his knees and begging to suck Steve off. Steve takes a seat on the toilet while Tony kneels beside the tub and starts running the water, fiddling with the taps until he finds the perfect temperature. Once he's happy with it, he perches himself on the edge of the tub, facing Steve. Absently, Steve runs a hand through his hair, but halfway through he jerks his hand away as though he'd burned himself. Something passes over his face, but he takes a steadying breath, grabs a towel, and lays it across his lap. "There's still glass in my hair," he says quietly, and runs his fingers through his hair again, methodically shaking out the tiny bits of windshield onto the towel. It's safety glass, designed to shatter on impact into edgeless shards that don't cut, but it still sucks.

"You okay?" Tony asks tentatively.

"Yeah," Steve says. "I will be."

He looks up, and gives Tony one of those warm, pure, genuine smiles. The kind that makes Tony's heart melt, and that tells him Steve isn't lying to him when he says he's okay. There is more going on here, more than Tony understands, but what he does understand is that Steve Rogers is one tough son of a bitch. The tub reaches a decent level, and Tony shuts the water off and stands. He takes the towel from Steve and shakes it out into the bathroom garbage. Then, once again, he helps Steve to his feet, praying to every god that may or may not exist that he doesn't blush as Steve tugs his boxers off — Tony keeps his eyes on the ceiling — and manages to step out of them. It takes some work, but they manage to get Steve into the tub. The sound that Steve makes as he sinks into the warm water is absolutely sinful, and threatens to go straight to Tony's dick.

"Well, uh, I'll leave you to it. Shout when you want out." With that, Tony turns and beats a very hasty retreat back to the bedroom. There, he digs through the closet and pulls out a spare blanket to wrap himself up in – and protect the bedding from his wet clothes – and flops dramatically on the bed. He is so screwed. There is approximately a 0.01 per cent chance that he is going to make it through the night with his dignity intact. Steve is just... too damn much. He's too gorgeous, too sweet, too strong. And the way he hadn't seemed to mind Tony seeing his vulnerabilities is... overwhelming, to say the least. It felt as though Steve letting him help was more than just necessity. It had felt like an offer of trust. It stirs up feelings inside Tony that he doesn't really want to consider. Feelings that are more than just a crush, more than just swooning over an attractive, kind barista. Feelings that he'd only felt once before –

Fuck. And he'd been doing so damned well all day.

Tony turns his head and shoves it into the pillow next to him, wishing, for once, that he could just shut his damned brain off. Or shut his feelings off. Or possibly both. Both would be nice.

He's saved a second later by his cell phone ringing. A quick glance at the screen shows that it's Rhodey, and Tony pounces at the phone, eager for the distraction.

"Honeybear!" He says by way of a greeting.

"Tony, what the hell happened? Are you okay?" Rhodey says in a slight panic.

Tony blinks in confusion. "Yes? I mean, I sent you a text telling you I was okay, we're just stuck overnight."

"Yes. And I notice that you very pointedly did _not_ tell me that you crashed your car in a ditch!"

"I was going to in the morning," Tony protests. "I didn't want to worry you since there was nothing you could do until morning anyway. Roads are all closed and there's a blizzard here."

"You still crashed your car, Tony," Rhodey says desperately. "You're lucky you're okay."

"Yeah, I am. I promise, we're both okay."

Rhodey lets out a shaky, relieved breath. "What do you need me to do?"

"Um.. can you come and pick us up in the morning when the roads are clear? I don't think my car is going to make it back to the city. Or anywhere, really. Got a tow truck coming to dig us out in the morning, but we'll need a lift back home."

"Done," Rhodey says without hesitation. "Send me your location and I'll be there."

"You're the best. And hey, can you bring us clean clothes? Jeans got pretty soaked in the snow and I dunno if they'll dry by morning."

"Clothes, and a ride home. You know, I'm pretty sure this is not the first time I've had to do this for you," Rhodey teased.

"Oh hush. Leave my young and stupid days out of this."

Rhodey is still laughing at the end of the line, and it's enough to make Tony feel a little better.

"Steve okay?" Rhodey asks, once his giggling subsides.

"Yeah, he's a little banged up. Wrenched his knee pretty good but I think it's just a sprain. He should be okay but he'll have to get it checked out when we get back to the city."

"No, I won't, it's fine!" Steve shouts from the bathroom.

"You are not fine! Don't argue with me," Tony shouts back. "Stubborn ass." This last is more of a mutter.

Rhodey is back to laughing at him again. "Bickering like a married couple already. I tell you, Tony, it's a match. You two sharing a room?"

Ugh. He absolutely did not want Rhodey to find out about that. Stupid Steve. "Only because the place was booked up, and this was all that was left."

"Uh huh, sure," Rhodey says. Tony wishes his BFF – and really, why is Rhodey his BFF with all this flack he's giving Tony? – could see the way that he's rolling his eyes. Too bad they aren't on a video call.

"How'd you find out we'd crashed anyway?" Tony asks, partly from curiosity, and partly to change the subject.

"I talked to Natasha. Called her when I heard you were stuck to make sure she was okay to stay with Casey overnight or if she needed reinforcements or anything brought over."

Ah. Right. _That's_ why Rhodey's his BFF. Because he's the best friend Tony could ever ask for.

"Thanks, Rhodey," Tony says a little softer. "I owe you."

"You owe me for a lot of things, Tones, 'cause I'm great. But this isn't one of them."

They chat idly a few minutes more before Tony ends the call. He's just starting to feel a little more at ease when he hears splashing coming from the bathroom, followed by grunts and hushed cursing. Tony immediately springs to his feet and darts into the bathroom in time to find Steve half leveraging himself out of the tub with just his arms. He looks so much like an awkward, forlorn seal flopping around that Tony can't help the sharp burst of laughter.

"Yup, you're totally fine. Tooootally fine," he teases.

"I hate you," Steve says without heat, but he looks up at Tony gratefully.

"Come on," Tony says, and crouches down. Together, they manage to get Steve out of the tub without too much trouble and without him having to put any weight on his bad knee, and get him wrapped up in a towel to dry off. Steve carefully slides his boxers back on, and continues to accept Tony's offer of help to make his way back across the room to the bed. Steve pauses at the foot of it and stares, as if realising for the first time that there is, in fact, only one bed.

"You know, tub's pretty big, I can always just sleep in that," Steve says lightly, though Tony wonders how much of a joke it really is. But, honestly, it's a terrible suggestion, and as much as Tony isn't sure how he's going to to make it through the night with a practically naked Steve laying next to him, he's not about to resort to anyone sleeping in a bathtub.

"It's fine, don't be ridiculous. We can share," Tony insists. "Besides, after our impromptu rollercoaster ride, we're both probably going to be sore in the morning. We both need somewhere soft to sleep. It's just one night."

Steve nods his agreement and looks grateful. Tony figures that Steve just didn't want to make him awkward, which was completely unnecessary. Tony is going to feel awkward no matter what the sleeping arrangements are. They throw back the blankets, and Steve carefully slides into bed, sitting upright against the massive pile of pillows. Tony grabs one of the spares, and slides it under Steve's knee to support it. He then grabs a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, and the plates of sandwiches that Fred had made them, and sits down on the end of the bed. Steve's eyes go wide at the sight of food, and he eagerly takes one of the plates from Tony and dives into the sandwich with enthusiasm. Tony's fairly certain he's never seen anyone enjoy a sandwich this much in his life.

After the third bite, Steve slows down and sighs happily. "Sorry, I didn't realise how hungry I am," he apologises. "I kind of have a weird metabolism."

"The amount of muscle you're packing, Steve, that seems pretty normal," Tony says, eying his defined shoulders and chest pointedly.

Steve flushes a little, but looks pleased as he takes another bite of sandwich. "You know, wasn't always like this," he said casually. "I was really late getting my growth spurt. Most of high school I was about five-five and scrawnier than you'd believe."

"Yeah, okay," Tony says in disbelief.

"True story. I'll show you pictures when we're back. When it finally hit, it hit hard. I shot up, filled out. Starting training with Bucky so we could make it into the army together. Then, well, a few years of active service and I kind of just... gained a lot of muscle. Comes with the job."

"Wait, you really are serious," Tony says. "You really were scrawny as a kid?"

Steve nods. "Scrawny and scrappy. Not a good combination."

"Okay, the scrappy part, I believe, definitely. Always Steve, no matter the size."

"You saying that scrappy is a part of who I am?" Steve cocks his eyebrow. Tony resolutely manages not to lean over and kiss him.

"I'm saying, the first time we met, you dug your heels in, and you were very outspoken about your beliefs. You have a real strength of conviction," Tony tells him. "That's what I mean by 'always Steve'. And okay, maybe you're a bit scrappy, too, but hey, you make it look good."

"Well, I'm glad you approve."

They finish up their sandwiches in silence, but it's comfortable – like the quiet moments of the car ride had been that morning. Once done, Tony takes the plates and sets them aside on the dresser, and then excuses himself to take a much needed shower.

He closes the door to the bathroom, and locks it, letting out a shaky breath. He'd hoped that eating and casually chatting might settle things in his head, but nope. His brain has decided to play 'Naked Steve Rogers – The Highlight Reel' on repeat in his head. Over, and over again. He closes his eyes, and all he can see is Steve's gorgeous body and his bright smile.

He'd tried not to look, he really had. It had been an accident. But he'd seen it anyway – Steve's perfect, heavy muscles glistening with the bathwater. Little pink nipples and rippling abs and thick, corded thighs. At least he'd managed not to sneak a peek at Steve's dick, as much as he wants to know what it looks like.

Ugh. Everything is terrible.

He finally strips his clothes off, taking his underwear – his stupid, ridiculous, embarrassing underwear – with them. He opens the shower door and turns the taps on, considers turning the water cold to deal with his unwanted desire.

But the thought of getting into a cold shower, with as cold as he's been all evening, is too awful. He can't bring himself to do it.

Tony heats up the shower and then slips into it, grateful for the warm, high-pressure shower head. It's one of those rain showers, much like his own at home, so hot droplets of water cascade over his head and shoulders from above.

He stands there for a moment, letting the water heat him to the bone, and then he gets another flash of the highlight reel.

Steve, letting himself sink into the hot water of the bath, and that noise – that _noise_ he'd made. God, it was like pure sex, like that hot water was the most pleasurable thing Steve had ever felt.

He'd _moaned_ at the feeling, and Tony can't help but wonder what he would have to do to make Steve make that noise again. Something fun, this time, maybe. Sucking a bruise into Steve's clavicle, maybe. Rolling one of those pert little nipples between his fingers. He wonders what noise Steve would make if Tony dropped to his knees and swallowed him down to the root – he hadn't done it in years, of course, but he'd learned to suppress his gag reflex pretty well. It's probably just like riding a bike.

Tony doesn't even try to stop himself as his hand wraps around his erection. The quickest, easiest way to deal with this unwelcome arousal is to jerk off quickly, get it out of his system so he can sleep.

So he can sleep beside Steve. All night. Just the two of them, wrapped up together in that big bed.

Steve wouldn't be shy about sex, Tony imagines. He'd be confident in bed, certain about what he wanted and how to get it. He's probably got a bit of a knight-in-shining-armour complex, and Tony could get used to that, play the unsure damsel.

Steve would use his entire body to cover Tony's, maybe use one hand to press Tony's hands down into the mattress above his head. His kisses would be possessive, _claiming_ , and he would grind his hard cock down against Tony's, slide his body against Tony's like silk over steel.

Tony's hand moves faster, stroking his cock harder even as the other hand drops to cradle his balls.

Or maybe Steve would play the virgin, would cry out in surprised arousal as Tony took Steve's whole length into his throat. Would whimper and whine and beg to have Tony fuck him, to open up that sweet, perfectly shaped ass and slide right in, thrust and thrust and just – oh, god – just fuck into Steve's tight body, oh, _yes_ –

Tony chokes off a cry as he comes, orgasm rushing through his ears and over his vision. The cascading water washes away the evidence as quickly as it's there, and Tony leans his forehead against the shower tiles, panting roughly through his open mouth as he tries to catch his breath and come down.

He shoves away the guilt. Yeah, Steve is his friend, and he feels a little weird about just having jerked off to thoughts of fucking his friend who is just on the other side of the door, but it's better than the alternative. He was quiet enough, Steve won't have heard him.

He shivers a little as he washes himself down with the hotel soap. It's not a shiver of chill, not this time. Just his body coming down from what was, frankly, a pretty good orgasm.

He doesn't take the time to do that as much as he should, Tony decides. It's not like he's going to have a partner any time soon, but that doesn't mean he can't do a little something for himself from time to time.

And, frankly, maybe a little bit of self care – he snickers to himself – would help with all the unresolved, one-sided sexual frustration he feels whenever he's around Steve.

Get it out of his system, so to speak.

Once his breathing and heart rate make it back to normal, he turns off the water and reaches out for one of the big, fluffy white towels. Dries himself off, then looks sadly down at his pants and underwear.

He has to put them back on.

He'd rather not, really. The underwear, sure, whatever. He wears it because he finds it comfortable, and it makes him feel a little bit sexy even when nothing's going to come of it. But the wet, dirty, cold pants?

Ugh.

On the other hand – he can't go out there in just the underwear.

With a sigh, he pulls his jock underwear on, adjusting his dick and balls so they're comfortably seated in them, sliding his fingers under the straps in the back to smooth them out, trying not to think too hard about how bare his ass is. Why hadn't he just put on something else this morning? Why?

Then, as much as he doesn't want to, he slips those awful, cold, wet wool slacks up his legs and does up the button and zipper. His shirt is still draped on the counter from earlier, so he slips it back over his shoulders and does up a couple buttons in the middle. Then he runs his fingers through his hair to work out some of the tangles, and turns the door knob to head out to his fate.

A whole night trying to sleep beside the human perfection that is Steve Rogers.

At least his ass is covered now.


	9. Chapter 9

**December**

By the time Tony opens the bathroom door and emerges, Steve is fairly certain he's managed to get his treacherous, stupid body under control.

He had managed to keep himself from getting a humiliating erection by the skin of his teeth earlier, when Tony had been helping him in and out of the bathtub. He'd gone over inventories and baseball statistics in his head, over and over again, trying not to think about Tony's beautiful, elegant hands on him. Tony's shockingly well-defined shoulders and biceps.

He'd given his knee a couple of none-too-gentle pokes while he'd been in the tub, after Tony had left him alone, because there was no way he was going to try to jerk off in the bathtub with Tony just outside the door.

Tony, who is so beautiful that it leaves Steve breathless, had helped him because he's feeble and ridiculous and – his knee? Really? They get into a stupid car accident and his _knee_ gives out? – injured. Not because Tony wanted some blithering idiot chasing after him.

And the flashback, back at the car – god, Steve wants to crawl into a hole. Yeah, he's been doing the therapy, talking to Sam, the whole nine yards, but still. That doesn't make it any less humiliating to have it happen in front of Tony like that.

At least it had been brief.

He glances up when Tony comes out of the bathroom. If he's honest with himself, he'd kind of hoped to get a glimpse of Tony's body again, but he comes out fully dressed. There's a tantalizing tease where his shirt isn't buttoned all the way, but it's not as much skin as he wishes he were seeing.

 _Don't be a creep, Rogers, he's your friend_.

He pushes the unfairness of it – Tony'd gotten a great eyeful of Steve's body, and Tony's not even _interested_ in him – out of his mind and goes back to watching Tony walk across the room.

Tony moves fluidly, confidently, like he does everything. He walks around the bed and goes to slide in on the other side.

"Tony, your pants."

Tony stops, blinks at him, and stares. "What?"

"Your _pants_ , Tony. They're still wet from the snow."

"Right. But it's fine, I don't mind."

"But – but it'll make the bed wet." Steve's not trying to be inappropriate here, he really isn't. It's just – he knows Tony's clothes are still wet and dirty from the snow they'd slogged through to get here. If he crawls into the bed like that, he'll catch a cold. "You'll get sick."

"You know you don't _actually_ get sick from being cold, right?" Tony is still standing beside the bed, looking torn. If Steve didn't know better, he'd think Tony was actually nervous.

"Then at the very least, if you wear those to bed, you'll make _me_ cold and wet."

Tony chews on his bottom lip, then gives a quick shrug with one shoulder and flashes Steve an embarrassed smile.

_Embarrassed. Tony Stark, embarrassed._

"Okay, well, Steve, full disclosure, then; I'm not exactly a 'boxers' kinda guy." With one more smirk, Tony swiftly undoes his pants and lets them drop to the floor beside the bed.

His shirt hangs just over his hips, but when Tony turns slightly to slide into the bed, Steve realizes what the problem is.

Tony is wearing a jock. The front is navy blue, almost mesh so that Steve thinks he can see a hint of the outline of Tony's genitals, and then the back is – the back is just strips of elasticized fabric across the waist and around the thighs and _Steve can see Tony's entire bare behind_.

It's just a moment, but it's _burned_ into Steve's retinas, and he knows he'll be seeing that in his mind every time he closes his eyes. The way that jock had framed Tony's ass, put it right on display as though to fulfill all of Steve's dark fantasies.

It really _is_ as perfect as Steve thought it always looked under Tony's clothing. But now, he has first hand knowledge of the flawless skin, the perfect dimples the – oh, _god_ , he needs to think about baseball again or he's going to have a raging hard-on, and he can't get out of bed without Tony's help, and then Tony would also be _touching_ him.

Shit, shit, _shit_.

He can't help the strangled sound that comes out of his throat as Tony crawls into the bed and pulls the blankets up to his waist, effectively hiding the underwear that is causing so many problems with Steve's body.

Tony must take the choked noise for a laugh, because he gives Steve a self-deprecating grin, not quite meeting Steve's eyes.

"Sure, sure, laugh it up," he says. "It's not like I expected to be in a room with anyone while _not_ wearing pants today."

"Right," Steve breathes, forcing out an awkward laugh of his own. He _has_ to get his mind out of the gutter.

"Well," Tony says, reaching over to pull the cord on the lamp on his side of the bed. "Guess we should get some sleep."

He pulls the cord and the room is plunged into darkness. Steve swallows roughly.

"Good night," Steve says, an almost inaudible whisper. Even in the dark, the sight of Tony's ass, framed and perfect and _just within reach_ is all Steve can see.

"Good night, Steve," Tony says.

 

+++++

 

An hour later, Steve is still awake staring at the ceiling. Tony hasn't moved in that hour, but his breathing hasn't made its way to that deep, sleepy sound either, so Steve suspects he's still awake, too.

"Hey, Tony?" Steve whispers, quietly, in case he's wrong and Tony is actually asleep.

Tony stirs beside him, and responds just as quietly, "Can't sleep either?"

"Nah, guess not." It's just the two of them, so it's not like they have to worry about disturbing anyone else, but there is something about laying in the dark in the middle of the night that makes hushed voices seem more appropriate – more comfortable. Steve is quiet for a moment, but then speaks up, hesitantly.

"Hey, Tony, can I ask you something?" There is a question tugging at his mind. Something he's wanted to ask for a while, but it wasn't his place, or his right to know. So he never had, until now. That's another thing about laying in the dark – topics that might feel forbidden during daylight hours seem safer to speak about.

"Yeah, sure. What is it?" Tony asks him.

Steve swallows hard, and for a moment is glad that he can't see Tony's face. He really hopes that he's not overstepping here. But, instinctively, it feels okay.

"What happened to Casey's mom?"

Beside him, Tony draws in a deep breath, and for a moment Steve thinks that Tony isn't going to answer. Steve's about to cut back in and tell him to forget about it, that it's none of his business, when Tony speaks.

"She... died. When Casey was born," Tony whispers into the night.

Of all the things that Tony could have said, of all the reasons that Steve had never heard mention of Casey's mom, this is quite possibly the worst. Tony's words are a punch to the gut.

"Jesus. That – oh my god, Tony."

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "It –" Tony hesitates, draws in another steadying breath, and presses on. "It was the best, and worst day of my life. I got Casey, but I lost Rumiko." Steve feels Tony shift again, rolling onto his back so they're both laying side by side, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. "It's honestly crazy to think about. All the advances we have in medicine, in health care... we had the best medical team that we could, and it still wasn't enough. Things just... happen. It, uh, it was a hard pregnancy for her. She was sick, and in pain a lot. But she wanted to go through with it. The doctors were amazing, they took such good care of her the whole time. The birth itself was really hard, but she pushed through. She never gave up on anything, Rumiko. But... right after he was born... I don't know what happened. Her blood pressure skyrocketed, and um, she started hemorrhaging. They couldn't stop the bleeding in time. They tried so hard." This last comes out as barely a whisper.

Without thinking, Steve moves his hand under the blankets, and takes Tony's hand. Tony laces their fingers together in response, and squeezes gently. "She got to hold him, before she died. She named him Casey. And the docs and nurses, they were amazing. Really. I still can't get over how fantastic and supportive they were. I was a goddamned mess. I was angry, and scared, and hurt. Rhodey came to the hospital to get me. I wanted nothing more than to drink enough whisky to convince myself that I was dreaming, that this wasn't really happening. But before we left the hospital, I took Rhodey to the nursery to meet him. We walked in and... there he was. This tiny little bundle, half asleep, wrapped up in his little blanket. I went to touch him, and he smiled at me, with his little eyes barely open. And I swear to god, my heart broke and stitched itself back together at the same time. He was just... the most perfect thing I had ever seen in my life. I didn't know that any human could feel that much love all at once and not explode. I swore to myself that I would do whatever it took to keep him safe, and to make Rumiko proud of us. That's what I've tried to do."

"And you're doing it well, Tony," Steve says softly. "Casey is an amazing boy. He's kind, he's smart, you're an amazing parent."

"Figured if I was the only one he was going to have, I needed to be twice as good."

"Tell me about her?" Steve asks. He can hear the smile in Tony's voice as he responds.

"She was brilliant. I mean, really. She was incredible. We were young – well, she was, younger than me, I mean – we were eager, she was the smartest person I'd ever met, and the ideas she came up with – things I had never considered. When I finally realized what I'd lost when I'd given up Stark Industries, she was right there, helping me make Stark Resilient something even better. She was so innovative. There was no problem, no roadblock she couldn't find her way around. Impossible didn't exist in her world. Fujikawa and Stark. We were unstoppable. After she died, I had the company set up the Rumiko Fujikawa Foundation, which provides funding for young people to explore STEM fields and encourage creative thinking. It's the kind of legacy she would have wanted."

"She sounds incredible," Steve says. "Thank you. For telling me about her."

"You know, I haven't really talked about her in a long time," Tony admits. "It... feels really nice, actually. I mean, it hurts still. Think it always will. But, I dunno. It's easier now to remember the good things. And I see so much of her in Casey. He got me through the roughest years of my life. I'd have been lost without him." Tony's voice sounds significantly less strained around the edges now, he feels more relaxed laying in the bed, and Steve has learned more about Tony in the last few minutes than he probably has in the entire time they've known each other. It reiterates the fact that Tony is tough, stubborn, and beautifully impressive.

They lapse back into a comfortable silence, and Steve thinks that maybe they'll both actually manage to sleep, when Tony speaks up again. "My turn to ask a question."

"Is that what we're doing?" Steve teases gently.

"I mean, if you want to answer it. I understand if you can't. Or don't want to."

"No, it's okay," Steve assures him. "What do you want to know?"

"Earlier, after we crashed. You weren't here for a minute. You had a, what, a flashback?"

Ah. Yeah. That. Honestly, Steve should have seen that coming. He's gotten better about talking about his PTSD, his experiences, his struggles. But it's still awkward, and hard. It makes him feel all kinds of vulnerable. But, Tony had exposed himself to Steve, bared his soul. Steve could trust him in the same way. And, it was good to talk about it. Or that's what his therapist and Sam and all the group meetings kept telling him.

"Yeah," Steve admits. "It doesn't happen so much anymore, at least not like that. But it does sometimes. If something sets me off. It's been a while since I've had one that intense, though. We all came back with PTSD. Not surprising, really. But, I'm sorry it happened during a crisis when I needed my head in the game."

"Hey, what? No. You have nothing to be sorry for, Steve. You can't control how your brain responds to triggers. And we'd just crashed a car – which I should really be apologizing for. Not exactly a non-stressful situation."

"Yeah, okay. Fair point," Steve concedes. "But we agreed, not your fault either. Just an accident that happened."

"Fine," Tony agreed. "Can I ask what you flashed back to? Was it a particular moment?"

It's Steve's turn to take a steadying breath before he replies. "Yeah," he confirms. "The last mission we were on. Except it wasn't even a mission. Just a routine patrol. It was supposed to be a break from all the missions we'd been running."

"Your squad. Bucky and Clint call you Cap, so I assume you led them?"

Steve nods, even though Tony's not looking at him. "Yeah, we were kind of our own thing, a specialized team. We fell outside the normal make up of squads and platoons. But they are one hell of a group of men and women, and it somehow fell to me to be their Captain. Everyone was cross trained in a few different skills, but everyone had their own specializations. Clint and Bucky were the sniper team. They'll both try and tell you they're a better shot than the other, but it's all lies. I've never seen two more evenly match marksmen. They're both equally good at shooting, and spotting, which isn't common. They used to flip coins before we went out to decide who was doing what."

"Sounds exactly like them," Tony chuckles.

"It really is," Steve agrees. "Bucky and I met Clint there, and the two of them bonded instantly. They were inseparable our entire tour. The entire squad became like our family, that's just how it goes. But Clint was something else. So, we were out one day, just doing a patrol around the base and a few surrounding villages. Clint, Bucky, Nicki, and I were in the lead vehicle. We didn't even see the IED until we were on top of it."

His hand starts shaking a little, but Tony is right there, still holding on, absently swiping his thumb across the back of Steve's palm. He's always struggled to talk about that day, but there is something about laying in the dark and the quiet, and the point in the night where everything feels a little surreal, that makes it easier. Like the words disappear into the darkness, harmless. "One minute we were driving, and the next, my ears are ringing and the vehicle is laying upside down on the road. I was trying to get my seat belt undone, and I could hear civilians screaming outside, and my own troops shouting. Must have gotten myself undone, because I hit the ground and crawled out. Nicki was already outside, she was bleeding, but mostly okay. She grabbed Clint, and I – I went for Bucky. He –" Steve squeezes his eyes shut and takes a moment to compose himself. It's alright. Bucky was okay. Bucky _is_ okay. Steve knows that. "– the bomb went off under Bucky's corner of the vehicle. Shredded the side of the vehicle, and the shrapnel tore right into him. In that split second, he'd covered his head with his arm – probably saved his life, kept the shrapnel from tearing through his neck, but it shredded his arm and the shoulder. I managed to drag him out of the vehicle, but by that point there was gunfire going off. But the squad was there, everyone in the other two vehicles were already out, covering our position so we could get to cover.

"Bucky was bleeding out in the sand, we were being shot at, and I had no idea what the status of the rest of my crew was. So I did the only thing I could do. I threw Bucky over my shoulder, and ran for cover behind one of the other vehicles. Thank god Nicki and Clint made it. Dee – one of the most level headed, good under pressure people we had – helped me load Bucky into the vehicle. She said everyone was on their feet, so I called for a retreat, and the squad got the hell out of there. We didn't lose anyone that day, which is nothing short of a goddamned miracle. Though if we'd have been out there any longer, Bucky wouldn't have made it. He was in surgery for hours, and even when the docs on the base got him stable, they weren't sure whether or not he'd lose the arm. Turned out in the mess I'd torn some ligaments in my knee, and then fucked them up even worse by dragging Bucky around. Shock and adrenaline were the only reason I was still standing. Once the dust settled, Bucky was given a mandatory medical discharge. Clint and I both opted to take honorable discharges too. We were done, neither of us wanted to go back out there, and we didn't want to send Bucky home alone."

"So, tonight then. Rolling, crashing vehicles?"

"Guess it was enough that I thought I was back in the desert for a second," Steve confirms.

"Shit. Steve, I'm-"

"Don't," Steve says, a little sharper than he intends. He softens his tone. "Don't be sorry. I'm okay, you're okay, you were there, you grounded me, and quickly. That's more help than you can possibly know. We got each other out of it, no harm done."

"Well, mostly no harm. Except, you know, your knee."

"It'll be fine, I didn't tear anything this time. Couple days I'll be back up and good."

"Right, if you're sure," Tony says, unconvinced.

"I'm sure."

"Okay. So where'd you meet Sam then? You didn't serve with him right?"

"Nah, he was air force. Pararescue."

"Damn, that's pretty hardcore," Tony remarks.

"Definitely," Steve agrees. "I met him at the VA shortly after we got back. I was trying to find every resource I could to help us all settle back. Sam was a hell of a lifeline, and a hell of a friend."

"So that's why you try and hire vets?"

"Mostly," Steve confirms. "It's not easy, transitioning back to civilian life. Especially since a lot of vets don't have work experience outside the military, and they're struggling with their own health issues, physical and mental. We like being able to offer a work environment that's supportive of their needs, 'cause Bucky, Clint, and I, we all get it. That's also why we implemented the suspended coffee and meal service. We're trying to help where we can."

"Okay, one more question," Tony says. Steve is really, very glad that Tony can't see the way that Steve is grinning to himself. Tony's curiosity is insatiable, no matter the subject. It's one of the many things Steve loves – likes – about him. "Why a coffee shop?"

"Because, we're all coffee addicts. Coffee on tour is shit. Like, honestly. Base coffee is terrible. So when we got back, I started making the good shit again, because we deserve nice things. And as you know, I make a pretty good cup of coffee. It kind of just snowballed from there."

"And so Brewed Awakening was born," Tony says.

"Yeah, Clint thinks he's funny," Steve shrugs. "The name was his idea."

"Well," Tony says carefully. "Thank you. For, you know."

"Yeah." Steve says.

Neither of them says anything after that, though Tony doesn't let go of his hand. Not long after, Tony's breath evens out as he slips into sleep. Steve follows soon after.

 

+++++

 

That night, Steve expects to dream of the crash. He expects to dream of dragging himself out of the remains of a vehicle, of desperately searching for Bucky, or Tony. But his subconscious decides against being straightforward. Instead, he dreams he's in a plane, hurtling towards the earth, everything around him cold and white. The dream shifts, and he's walking through New York, except there's something off about it, something he can't quite place. But it doesn't feel like _his_ New York. It's unsettling. The dream shifts again, and he's laying in a warm, soft bed. Someone shifts beside him – Tony, his mind supplies. This is a much nicer dream. He shifts in bed and turns towards Tony, towards the warmth and the comfort. He leans towards a Tony he can only just see through half closed eyes and goes for a sleepy kiss. But in the moment before their lips touch, Steve's brain wakes up fully, and reality slaps him in the face. Shit. This isn't a dream. He _is_ in bed with Tony. They're in the hotel, and Steve – oh God, Steve had just tried to kiss Tony. Tony, who'd told him all about his wife. Tony, who wants nothing to do romantically with some coffee shop-owning war vet with lingering trauma issues.

Without thinking, Steve springs back from Tony and scrambles to jump out of bed, stammering apologies. His foot hits the floor, and he moves to push himself to standing – only to have his injured knee collapse under him. What a fucking morning, and he's been awake less than 10 seconds. He dares to look up from where he's laying on his back on the floor, one leg still on the bed tangled up in the blankets. For a second, Tony stares at him, wide eyed. Then promptly bursts into laughter. Steve feels his entire face heat up, and he wishes a hole would just open up in the floor and swallow him whole so he didn't have to face the embarrassment.

"Oh – my god," Tony manages to get out between fits. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, I know, but. I'm sorry, that was the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen." Tony's eyes are shining, and through the mortification Steve is feeling, he manages to crack a smile of his own. It probably did look ridiculous from where Tony was sitting, and the carefree, pure joy on Tony's face would be worth any amount of embarrassment. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" Tony asks as he rolls to his feet and hurries off to Steve's side of the bed to help him up.

"Just my ego," Steve huffs as he tries to untangle himself from the blankets. Tony crouches beside him and offers his hand, and when Steve turns to take it, he can't help but get an eyeful of the half hard-on that is visible under Tony's barely existent underwear. It's just a normal morning erection, it has nothing to do with Steve, but nonetheless Steve's mouth goes dry, and he can feel his heart rate speeding up. It would be so easy to turn his head, lean forward and –

– he cuts off that line of thought at the same time that Tony springs back, embarrassment of his own evident.

"Oh. Jeez. Uh, sorry," Tony scrambles for a sheet to wrap around himself to preserve what little dignity he has left. "I didn't –"

"It's fine," Steve says, managing to extricate himself from his own tangle and push himself up to sitting. "It's – it's not your fault I mean, mornings are – hoo boy, mornings, right?"

They both laugh it off awkwardly, and with his sheet now firmly tied around his waist, Tony once again offers his hand to help Steve up. It turns out that his injury is doing better today. While his whole body is sore from being tossed around, his knee can actually bear some weight as long as he is gentle and careful about it. Steve makes his way over towards the bathroom, and Tony leaves him there and goes to grab his phone.

"I'm just going to call Rhodey and see where he's at. He's gonna get us home. And I'll see how the tow truck is coming."

"Right. Uh, thanks then," Steve says and shuts the door. He immediately slumps against it, and barely manages to resist the urge to thump his head against the door repeatedly. He wishes this were still a dream, and not one of the single most awkward mornings of his life.

 

+++++

 

Once they're back in the city, Steve tries to convince Rhodey to just drop him off at the shop where Bucky and Clint are, but neither Rhodey nor Tony are having it. They both insist that yes, they will take him to the shop – by way of the hospital first. They insist on waiting with him, even though Steve insists it's not necessary. Rhodey just gives him this dreadfully unimpressed look that seems to say that he doesn't actually believe Steve will stay put if they turn their backs. He's going to go out on a limb here and assume that that was probably developed after years of Rhodey having to deal with Tony. Luckily, the hospital is blessedly quick, and after some X-rays and an exam, Steve is sent on his way with some slightly stronger painkillers, crutches, a brace, and a recommendation for physiotherapy just to help things along. Steve sighs to himself as he slips the crutches under his arms. His old physiotherapist still works with the VA, but she isn't going to be thrilled to see him again under these circumstances.

Only after he's been given the all clear by the doc does Rhodey drive him into Brooklyn. He thanks Rhodey profusely, says a very awkward goodbye to Tony, and doesn't look back at them as he carefully makes his way in through the front door of the shop.

Almost immediately, he regrets his choices.

"Steven Grant Rogers, what the hell happened?" Steve looks across the shop to find a livid Bucky storming over to him. The few people in the shop raise their heads to inspect the commotion, but Steve hardly notices. It is, after all, not even close to the most embarrassing thing that's happened to him today.

"I'm fine, Buck, I promise," Steve says, exhaustion bleeding out in his voice.

"I didn't ask if you were fine, I asked what the hell _happened_." The anger is laced with concern as Bucky presses himself up against Steve's side. Steve slumps against him slightly, and lets Bucky lead him through the shop into the back office. Steve drops himself down on the nap couch – another of Clint's bright ideas, one that Steve is incredibly grateful for right now – and stretches his leg out.

Bucky sits himself down next to Steve, still pressed closed to him. "Hearing that you're okay after being in a fucking _car crash_ is not the same as actually seeing you okay," Bucky tells him, relaxing ever so slightly.

"Yeah, I know. Thought about just telling you we were stuck because of the weather. But I knew you'd be more pissed if you found out after the fact about the rest."

"Damn right I'd be more pissed," Bucky agrees. "But seriously, Steve, are you okay?"

Steve drops his head on Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky instinctively wraps an arm around him. "Yeah. I will be." Then, before he can second guess himself, he tells Bucky everything. About spinning out, about flashing back, about slogging through the snow, about staying in the hotel, and Tony helping him. Part way through the story, Clint comes in and settles himself on Steve's other side. He leaves out the part where he almost tried to kiss Tony, and the part about Tony's morning wood, and most of the details about Rumiko, choosing instead just to say that Tony told him about Casey's mom, and Steve told Tony about the IED incident. What Tony had shared with him felt... private. It isn't his place to divulge that.

"Great, so you sorted yourselves out, then, I assume," Clint says.

Steve furrows his eyebrows and looks over at Clint. "What do you mean?"

"You know, all that unresolved sexual tension and pining. You sorted all that out?"

Steve flushes again and internally curses his pasty skin. "No. We didn't – there's nothing to sort out."

"Wait, what?" Bucky says sharply. "You mean, you're still not boning?"

"What? No! Of course we're not," Steve sputters.

"Not even making out? Finally confessing your feelings?"

"Buck, come on," Steve whines.

"No, _you_ come on, Rogers. I can not _believe_ you two shared a goddamn honeymoon suite and somehow you are _still_ not boning. What the hell is wrong with you? _Both_ of you?"

"Wow, I mean, I thought _we_ were dumb, but we at least got our shit together," Clint says. "That's saying something, Rogers."

Steve groans and closes his eyes, because he's trapped between them and there is literally nowhere to hide his face. Sometimes he absolutely hates his stupid friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4880/32170010958_50e2288219_b.jpg).


	10. Chapter 10

**Bucky is So Done (December)**

In the days after the accident, everything shifts, and it's absolutely not for the better. It's driving Bucky completely insane. He and Clint had ignored Steve's insistence that he was fine, and didn't need any help, and found excuses to work from the Manhattan shop for a few days.

The day after the accident, Stark doesn't come into the shop at all, which is kind of weird, because Bucky was under the impression that Tony came in every damned day. Sometimes multiple times a day. He's also pretty certain Nat had mentioned something about Tony and Rhodes having a daily 'BFF' work meeting, every day at 9am. But 9am comes and goes, with no sign of Stark or Rhodes. At ten past nine, Steve glances up at the clock, sighs, and mumbles something about needing to go do something in the back.

It's a weekend, and Stark had kind of a rough week, maybe he's just taking a few days off. Bucky doesn't think anything about it until Monday morning rolls around. Steve's been quiet and withdrawn in the past few days, but again, it's to be expected. On the down low, Bucky had asked Sam to check in with Steve and keep an eye on him. Sam, excellent as he is, had stepped up and strong armed Steve out to a meeting and coffee after with some of the VA crowd the night before. It seemed to help, and Steve was in better spirits.

Except now, that mood is rapidly deteriorating. They're working side by side – Bucky at the till, Steve making drinks, and it's light and easy the way it always is. Steve smiles at the customers, makes small talk with them like he always does, but it feels... hollow. The clock ticks closer to 9am, and Steve starts glancing up at the door every 30 seconds. It's like he's trying to be subtle about it, but he's failing miserably, on account of 'subtle' not really being Steve's strongest skill. His shoulders are tensing by the minute, and he's winding himself so tightly, Bucky honestly fears that he might snap.

Nine o' clock comes and goes again, with no sign of Stark. The morning crowd dies down, and Steve rips off his apron, and slumps into the back without so much as a word.

What. The. Hell.

Clearly, something had happened between Steve and Stark on that trip. Bucky stays up front until Evan arrives to do the pre-lunch rush work.

"Watch the front for a minute?" Bucky asks, and leaves Evan to it. He and Steve need to have words.

He finds Steve moping in the back office, halfheartedly putting a supply order together.

"What the hell are you doing, Steve?" Bucky demands, striding into the office and kicking the door shut behind him.

Steve looks up, startled, but shrugs as Bucky takes a seat on the corner of the desk.

"Order has to be placed this afternoon, I'm just going through the info Sandi left."

"Sure, and that's _all_ you're doing," Bucky snaps.

"What do you mean 'that's all I'm doing?'"

"I _mean_ ," Bucky says, staring hard at Steve, "that you're just doing the order, and not remotely hiding out or moping at all."

"Of course I'm not moping, why would I be moping?" Steve turns his attention back to the screen. Bucky knows there isn't anything of interest there, it's just so that he can avoid meeting Bucky's gaze, because Steve is a terrible liar.

"Have you talked to him since you got back?"

"Talked to who?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you. Have you talked to _Tony_?"

Steve's shoulders slump a little more. Suspicion con-fucking-firmed. God, these two are morons. The pair of them.

"He's been busy," Steve says. "He's got a major project on the go with the DoD, they have deadlines coming up. He doesn't have time to be hanging around here."

"Didn't he once blow off a DoD meeting to fix our oven?" Bucky asks.

Steve just shrugs. "That was before."

"Before what?" Bucky presses.

"Before he got busy with the actual project."

"That didn't stop him last week. What happened on that trip, Steve?"

"Nothing happened," Steve snapped, gripping the pen he's holding hard enough that Bucky thinks he might break it in half. "Tony just has more important things to do than worry about hanging around here. Just leave it."

The 'hanging around here _with Steve_ ' is left unsaid, but it lingers in the air. It makes Bucky's chest ache a little to see Steve so down on himself. They all struggle with it still – they're a bunch of used up soldiers with a laundry list of issues and traumas between them. Sometimes it's impossible not to get down on themselves. But that's why they have each other, as frustrated as Bucky currently is with Steve's dumb ass. Bucky slides off the desk and wraps his arms around Steve, pulling him against his chest.

"Hey," he says gently, resting his cheek on the top of Steve's head, "it's alright, Stevie. We're gonna get through this." Steve sags against him, and a little of the tension fades from his shoulders. It's a small victory, but Bucky will take it.

 

+++++

 

Since going through Steve to figure out what the issue is was a dead end, Bucky moves down to the next person on his list. Natasha comes into the shop one evening while Bucky and Clint are working late, having sent Steve off early to meet with his physiotherapist.

"I'm _fine,"_ Steve had insisted.

"Great! Now go make _her_ say you're fine," Clint had responded cheerfully.

As soon as Natasha walks in, Clint is making up her tea without prompting. She takes it gratefully, and steps behind the counter to stand with them. The shop is quiet, and neither of them are going to tell her no.

"So," Bucky says without preamble. "We have a problem."

"Yes, we do," she agrees.

"I assume Tony has been –"

"– not himself," she confirms. "He's... broody. Withdrawn. He's spending even more time with Casey than normal, and I'm pretty sure he's not sleeping as much as he should be. Or at all."

"He hasn't been into the shop since the day they went on that trip. Did something happen? Does he all of sudden just, not like Steve or something? I mean, I wouldn't believe that for a second, but honestly, I don't know what else to think right now."

"No, that's not it," Natasha shakes her head. "The opposite, really. He adores Steve. Respects him, admires him, thinks the world of him, really. "

"So then why is he avoiding him?" Clint asks. "'Cause I highly doubt Steve would have told him to bugger off. Not even _Steve_ is that self sabotaging. He would have been happy just quietly pining away as Tony's friend until the next ice age rolled into town. "

"It's Tony," Natasha tells him. "Tony is the one who's pulling away. But he won't talk to me, either. I've tried."

"But you're sure he still wants Steve?" Bucky asks.

Natasha nods her head again. "Yes. But the two of them need to stop hiding, and talk to one another."

"Yeah... talking about feelings is not Stevie's strong suit. Definitely not the romantic kind of feelings. I don't think he's even been on a date since we got back," Bucky muses.

"And I have it on good authority from Rhodey that Tony hasn't been on a date since Casey was born," Natasha adds.

"Great, so they both have the emotional maturity of a blueberry. That's just peachy," Clint says. "So what's the plan? 'Cause we definitely can't just like, set them up on a date. They'll never go for it."

A plan is already forming in Bucky's mind. It's more of a 'last ditch effort' than an actual plan, but fuck it. Subtlety isn't working on these idiots – it might be time for a more direct approach.

"Leave it with me," he says. "I'll get it sorted. One way or another."

 

+++++

 

The following day, Natasha sends him a text informing him that Tony is planning on picking Casey up from school that afternoon. Perfect. Time to put the plan into action. Right around the time that school is scheduled to let out, Bucky excuses himself from the shop and casually wanders next door. Not surprisingly, Tony is already there even though school doesn't technically let out for another ten minutes. Tony is nothing if not predictable when it comes to Casey. It's actually kind of adorable in a weird 'Tony' way. Bucky can see why Steve digs it so much.

"Tony," Bucky says, sliding up next to him.

Tony startles a little, and looks a little awkward at Bucky's sudden appearance. "Hey. Bucky."

"How've you been?" Bucky asks casually. "We haven't seen you around the shop in a while."

"Yeah, well, I've been... busy. You know how it is," Tony shrugs. "The DoD thing, it's really got us tied up. And now there's the new thing from that meeting last week. Lots of stuff on the go."

Bucky pins him down under the hard stare that he developed over the years of dealing with a stubborn Steve Rogers, and perfected during his time in combat. Tony shifts uncomfortably.

"Interesting," Bucky says with a false casualness. "But see, I have a different theory. I think the reason you haven't been around, is that you're avoiding Steve."

For all that Tony is outgoing and expressive, there are times that he is very good at schooling his expression into unfluctuating neutrality. Probably an essential skill in the business world. This, however – unfortunately for Tony – is not one of those times. For a fraction of a second, his face twists up into an expression that tells Bucky he's hit the nail square on the head, and then his face closes off entirely.

"So, why are you being so avoidant?" Bucky demands.

"I'm not, it's nothing like that," Tony says quickly. "Look, it was great seeing you, but now isn't a good time. I –"

"I'll tell you why," Bucky cuts in. "It's because you're in love with him, and it scares the ever loving shit out of you."

Tony freezes on the spot. Last ditch effort. If this doesn't work, Bucky has probably effectively screwed up any chance Steve has at happiness with Tony. For a long second, Bucky is sure that Tony is going to snap on him, but he doesn't. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath, and Bucky takes that as a sign that it's okay to step a little closer into Tony's space.

"So what if I do?" Tony asks him quietly. "I can't just..." he trails off.

"Let yourself get close?" Bucky finishes. Tony nods, and Bucky continues. "Yeah, Steve is having the same struggle. He's head over heels in love with you, too, and he's too blinded by fear to see that you feel the same."

"He – what?" Tony's eyes go wide – surprise and then anger – as he stares over at Bucky. "Come on, Barnes. Don't fuck with me."

"I'm not. The reason you and I are having this conversation? Because I'm sick of seeing you two make yourselves miserable pining after each other. So what is it? What's keeping you from seeing how much he cares about you? Feeling like you don't deserve him?"

"Yeah, that. Among other things," Tony admits.

Bucky nods thoughtfully. "I've known Steve a long time. Like, a long, _long_ time. Since we were kids. We know each other, sometimes better than we know ourselves. So while he's never said it to me, I know that at least part of the reason that he won't say anything, or act on how he feels is that he doesn't think he's good enough for you."

"That is the stupidest thing I have heard all day," Tony says flatly. "And trust me, if you had been in on my meeting this morning, you would realise just how many stupid things I have heard today."

"It is stupid," Bucky agrees. "But it doesn't matter, because that's what he believes."

"Steve," Tony breathes, "he can't... I mean, how can he?"

Bucky shrugs. "We've all got baggage, Tony. We've all got issues."

"Yeah, I get that. You know, he told me about the accident? The one you were all sent home after."

"He failed to tell me that he'd told you about that," Bucky says.

"Yeah. That night in the hotel when we couldn't sleep."

"That's a pretty big deal for him."

"Yeah, I got that," Tony says.

"Look, you love each other. You trust each other. You're right for each other. Just _talk_ to him, okay? I promise you, you're more than good enough for him. And he's definitely good enough for you."

At that moment, their little heart to heart is interrupted by a shriek of "Bucky!" and a tiny human throwing himself at Bucky's legs, clinging on.

"Hey there, squirt," Bucky says, patting Casey's head.

"We haven't seen you in _so long_!" Casey says, peering up at him. "How are you? How is Steve? Did you know that he and Daddy had a big adventure?"

"I had heard something about that," Bucky confirms, and glances over at Tony.

Tony smiles apologetically, and takes Casey's hand. Casey goes willingly, letting go of Bucky's legs.

"I should get back to work," Bucky says, and turns to leave. "I better see you both soon!" he calls back over his shoulder.

"Promise!" Casey shouts back.

Mission. Fucking. Accomplished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4899/46040880931_6de388aae6_b.jpg).


	11. Chapter 11

**December**

It's mid afternoon the following day, and Steve is absently wiping down the counter. Clint has a batch of cranberry white chocolate cookies in the oven, and they smell amazing. Casey would love them, Steve thinks sadly to himself. Too bad that Casey probably won't be in to try one. Maybe he can get Natasha to bring him one, so at least he can still enjoy 'the best cookies in the world.'

It's nearing on a week since he's seen Tony. Tony and Rhodey had dropped him off in front of the shop, and he'd said goodbye. He wishes he'd known it might be the last time he saw Tony. He would have lingered a moment longer, said something different. But it's too late for that now. Tony had made it pretty clear that he didn't want to see Steve. Why the hell had his stupid brain betrayed him? What the hell had possessed him to try and kiss Tony? That had to be the issue, and now everything is messed up between them. Steve's lost Tony, he's lost Casey, he's lost friends.

He rinses the cloth in the sink and dries his hands, and is just heading back to check the display case as his phone starts ringing in his pocket. He pulls it out absently and goes to answer, when he sees Tony's name on the screen. His heart skips a beat, and for a second, Steve can't breathe. Tony is calling him? His hands are shaking a little, but his voice is calm as he answers the phone.

"Steve, here," he says.

"Steve. Oh my god, thank god. I need your help."

Tony is practically hysterical on the other end of line. Steve is immediately on high alert.

"Hey, Tony what's going on?" Steve asks, hurrying into the back, away from the customers so he can have some privacy. The hope that flooded him at seeing Tony's name has shifted into cold dread.

"I don't – I don't know what to do. Shit. How did this happen? Fuck, Steve, I did everything. Everything I could to keep him safe."

Steve feels like the floor is falling out from under him, like the whole world is turning upside down even as his brain is kicking into high tactical gear.

"Okay, Tony," Steve says calmly. "I need you to take a deep breath, and tell me exactly what happened."

On the other end of the line, he hears Tony draw in a shaky breath. "Someone took Casey."

 

+++++

 

Steve had almost dropped the phone when Tony had said those three horrible words. All his combat and tactical training had taken a back seat for a moment, and all he felt was frozen terror. He had sagged against the wall, just in time for Bucky to come to the back and find out why he'd run off on the phone.

Bucky had taken the phone from Steve's limp, shaking fingers, and Steve could hear him talking to Tony, but it had been like listening to a conversation underwater. He couldn't quite make out the words, and the volume kept shifting up and down.

"We're on our way," Bucky had said, then turned to Steve.

It's not until the third time Bucky calls his name that Steve is able to lift his eyes and work through the rushing blood in his ears. Bucky's face is pale, his eyes wide, and he's grasping Steve's shoulders in both hands.

That physical contact is enough to snap Steve back to reality. Time catches up to him.

"Steve. Check in," Bucky says.

"I'm okay," Steve says with a shaky, deep breath. Another breath and then, firmer: "I'm okay."

"Good. Good. Okay, I'm calling Nat. Steve, you need to call Clint. Do you understand? Clint needs to meet us at Tony's house."

"Where – I've never been there," Steve says, the reality of that hitting him square in the face. The feelings he's been denying about Tony, the love he has for Casey, and he still doesn't even know where they live? How could he be so self-centered?

"Don't worry about it," Bucky says, handing Steve's phone back to him even as he flicks through the contacts on his own phone and brings it up to his ear. "Nat'll text us."

Steve blinks and watches for a second as Bucky waits for Natasha to pick up the phone. Bucky makes an impatient gesture with his hand, and Steve steels himself. He doesn't have time to fall apart right now, and he knows it. What's important is Casey.

He brings his contact page up and scrolls up to Clint's name, taps it and brings the phone to his ear.

"Yo," Clint answers after a minute.

"Clint, we have an emergency," Steve says.

"Is Bucky okay?" Clint's voice loses all its usual jovial carelessness, and suddenly he sounds like he had back when they'd been in Iraq. Clipped, formal, to the point.

"Bucky is fine, and so am I," Steve tells him. "It's Casey. Tony just called, Casey's missing."

"Fuck," Clint breathes.

"Bucky's calling Natasha, but we need to close down the shops and meet at Tony's. Do you understand?"

"Sandi is right here with me," Clint tells him. "She's going to call Angela and Mike to cover. I'll call Sam and bring him with me, Tony's gonna need him. Is Nat texting me the address?"

Steve is glad he doesn't have to ask Clint to grab Sam – he'd been thinking it, but for some reason the idea of putting it into words had made him feel like it would make something worse happen. Like bringing in the guy who could help with trauma counseling would somehow create trauma.

As if it wasn't already traumatic enough.

Bucky hangs up his own phone call, and reaches over to pluck Steve's phone from his hand.

"Hey, babe," Bucky says into the phone. "Steve and I are headed over to Tony's now. Nat's texting you the address, she's on her way over there, too. Steve and I are closer, though, we'll probably get there first."

Steve heads out to the front, then, to find Evan working the till.

He explains the situation, tells Evan he can lock up until someone else comes in to help. Evan nods and goes back to work, so Steve heads back to Bucky, who's just finishing up on the phone with Clint.

"What happened?" Steve asks, confused, as he and Bucky head out the back door and start making their way down the street. Steve knows the general direction of Tony's house – he's watched Tony walk Casey to school or watched Tony walk into the shop often enough. Bucky glances at his phone, and Natasha must have texted him because he picks up his pace, destination known now. Together, they work up to a jog – they're both in good enough shape to handle it.

"Tony got a phone call," Bucky says grimly between breaths. "They said not to call the police, and that they had Casey."

"Fuck," Steve spits, ice water in his veins. "Ransom?"

Bucky shakes his head, brow furrowing. "He said they want information, but he doesn't know what _for_. He's – he wasn't real clear, he's pretty shaken. He said Rhodes was on his way over, but that's all I got out of him."

They don't talk much the rest of the way, but it isn't far.

When they get to the building, there's no list of buzzer numbers at the front entryway. There's a man sitting at a desk, looking bored but alert.

"Help you?" He asks, voice gruff.

"We're here to see Tony Stark," Bucky says confidently, navigating the world of the very rich better than Steve would have expected. He's not sure he would have been able to do as well.

Though, that might be the frantic, biting worry clawing at his chest.

"He expecting you?" Asks the door man, picking up a simple black telephone and bringing it to his ear. He punches a couple of buttons on the touchpad attached to it.

"He should be," Bucky says.

"Mr. Stark," the doorman says into the phone. "Reggie, here, from the desk. Got a couple gentlemen here sayin' you might be expecting them." He pauses. "Sure thing, Sir."

The doorman – Reggie – puts the phone back into its cradle and jerks his chin toward the elevators. There's no button on the wall, but the one farthest to the right opens when they step up to it. There's a little placard above the doors that reads 'Penthouse Elevator'.

Bucky and Steve step in, but just as the door is about to close, Rhodey bursts through the lobby doors, looking as frantic as Steve feels.

"Reggie, I gotta go up," he says, barely looking at Reggie.

"Sure thing, Mr. Rhodes. Mr. Stark having a party or something?"

"Not exactly," Rhodey says grimly, stepping into the elevator between Steve and Bucky.

The doors close, and the three men look at each other quietly for a moment as the elevator cabin starts to rise.

"What the _fuck_?" Rhodey growls. "How the fuck did someone get to him?"

"I don't know," Steve says, suddenly swamped with guilt. How _did_ someone get to Casey? He should have been at school. Tony would have dropped him off this morning, then headed to the office. He usually would have stopped at the shop for a coffee between, but not this week.

Steve had said he'd keep an eye out. He'd said Casey would be safer _with_ Brewed Awakening beside his school than he would be _without_.

But somehow, sometime today, someone had gone to Casey's school, and taken him.

The guilt burns at the back of Steve's throat. He should have done a better job of protecting Casey. He should have been watching.

" _Steve_ ," Bucky snaps, hand gripping Steve's shoulder roughly, fingers digging in. It's grounding enough to bring Steve's awareness back to the inside of the elevator. "I can see the wheels turnin' in there, man, and it's _not_ your fault. It's _not_."

"I should have –"

"What? Whoa, no, Steve, buddy," Rhodey interrupts, looking stricken. "You can't possibly think you could have – that's like saying _I_ should have done a better job keeping him safe. It's not your fault, and it's not my fault. Tony's gonna decide it's his fault, but it's not. You know whose fault it is? Whoever took Casey. That's who. Our job now? Find the son of a bitch and put 'em in the ground."

That, Steve can agree with.

Before he gets a chance to say anything further, the elevator opens into a wide, empty hallway. There's a door across the hall, and Rhodey strides over to it and places his hand flat on some kind of biometric scanner. The door slides open after a moment.

"Tony's got the place wired, the only people that can come in without his say-so are me and Natasha. And she's got _three_ scanners to pass," Rhodey says, walking through the door.

Tony is sitting on the edge of a chair in the living room, the first room in the penthouse suite inside the door. He looks gaunt, white, and sick. His eyes are rimmed with red, wet with unshed tears.

Rhodey walks right up to him, and hauls him up into his arms for a hug.

Steve and Bucky hang back for a long moment, watching Rhodey hold Tony while Tony shudders and shakes.

It feels like a private moment, but Steve can't look away. He hasn't seen Tony in a week. Even though the man looks like he's been through the wringer to hell, and even though the circumstances are horrific, he's still a beautiful sight for sore eyes.

Eventually, Rhodey pulls back, and Tony swipes his hand across his face, wiping away a few tears that had leaked out.

"Tony…" Steve doesn't know how to finish, isn't even sure what he'd meant to say.

Tony looks up at him, and his lip trembles, his eyes well, and Steve can't stop himself – he's jerking forward and pulling Tony into his arms, holding him as tightly as he can.

Tony shakes in his arms, clinging to Steve's back. He's warm and solid but he feels somehow frail and breakable. Tony buries his face into the crook of Steve's neck, and Steve can feel hot breath there.

Steve keeps his arms around Tony, but he pulls back slightly, tipping his head down to meet Tony's eyes.

"We'll find him," Steve says, with more conviction than he should. He knows the chances of finding Casey aren't great. He knows this is all a shot in the dark.

But it doesn't matter. They have to find Casey.

They _have_ to.

 

+++++

 

"Tell us again," Natasha says, sometime later after she, Clint and Sam have arrived. "From the beginning."

Tony runs an angry hand through his hair, clawing at his scalp and making a frustrated noise.

"I _told_ you. I don't know! They used a voice scrambler. They said they had Casey, and they said they'd kill him if I didn't 'give it to them,' or if I called the police. Give _what_ to them? Money? Cars? Cash? Tech? I'd fucking give them anything they want if it would _get me back my son_."

Steve reaches over and puts a comforting hand on Tony's back. Tony hunches in on himself, but at the same time he leans just a little in Steve's direction.

"What did you say, then?" Clint asks, eyes sharp as he stares at Tony, looking for some flinch, some tell of a forgotten memory. A twitch that Clint can exploit, push at for more information.

Tony groans. "I said I'd give them anything, whatever they wanted. But instead of telling me _what_ they want, they just gave me that address." He waves his hand at the piece of scrap paper he'd written the address on. It's out by the docks, because of course it is. "They said to come alone or they'd kill him."

"You're not going alone," Steve says, stern.

"Or they'll _kill him_ ," Tony says coldly, turning to give Steve a betrayed glare.

"They _won't_ ," Steve argues. "Because they won't even know we're _there_."

"We've all got combat experience, and the three of us had plenty of spec ops experience," Bucky says.

"So, what, you're just gonna run in like the cavalry and _hope_ they don't notice and _kill my son_?"

"Tony," Natasha says, kneeling in front of Tony and taking both his hands in hers. She looks up into his face, eyes steely. "We love him, too. All of us. We wouldn't put him in jeopardy. But they didn't even tell you what they wanted for a ransom. That means that whatever this is? It is first and foremost a trap. You go in alone, and suddenly they've got you, too."

"That's _not_ happening," Steve growls protectively, not even caring anymore about trying to hide how he feels. It doesn't matter. Tony's rejection of him doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that Casey is missing, kidnapped, and the man that Steve loves is in pain.

"Tony, come on," says Rhodey, from Tony's other side. "You know they're right. We gotta do this together. It's the only hope we have of getting Casey back."

Tony looks around the room at them. After a moment, he takes a deep breath, and speaks.

"What do we do?"

 

+++++

 

Tony was given instructions to meet the kidnappers at midnight. Casey had been picked up from school. Natasha had called the school in the afternoon to find out when Casey had been taken. Julie, Casey's teacher, had told her that Casey's aunt had stopped by to pick him up around eleven. She'd told Julie that Casey's father had been in an accident, and that she needed to pick Casey up. It was serious, they were in a hurry.

Steve is livid. How could they just let some strange woman take a child from their care? Didn't they have approved pick-up lists? Didn't they make people show ID? How could someone just go into a school and collect a child?

"Casey wouldn't have gone with her," Tony argues.

"If he thought something had happened to you?" Steve murmurs. "I think he might go with anyone. He loves you as much as you love him, Tony."

The description of the woman hadn't been particularly helpful. Average height, average build. Long, dirty blonde hair. She'd been frantic, worried about her 'brother,' Tony. She'd said her name was Angela.

When they'd asked, Tony had said no, the name doesn't mean anything to him.

He doesn't have a sister.

It's nine in the evening by now. They've spent the last few hours planning. Bucky and Clint headed home to collect their service weapons, as well as Steve's. Natasha shakes her head that no, she doesn't need one. Sam takes the offer of an extra from Bucky's (rather impressive) gun locker, as does Rhodey.

"I don't get a gun?" Tony croaks, looking almost too tired to stand.

Steve shakes his head, already going over multiple plans in his mind. Trying to anticipate hurdles, trying to work on a strategy.

They pull up the address on Google Maps, and using satellite view, Steve starts formulating a plan.

They'll put Clint up high, somewhere he can't be seen. He's got good eyes, he can see from a long way. Clint will keep an eye on Tony, with Rhodey there to provide back-up. Sam and Natasha will scour the area for anyone hiding or planning an ambush.

Steve and Bucky will go looking for Casey, to see if they can find him.

"What if the kidnapper brings him to the meet?" Rhodey asks, leaning back in his chair.

Steve shakes his head. "Not if it's a trap, which we think it is. Too many variables, then. They can't subdue Tony if they have to worry about Casey. They'll leave him somewhere safe."

"Do you think there's more than one?" Sam asks.

Steve shrugs. "We have to assume it's a team, to be on the safe side." He points to a space between two buildings on the computer screen. "See here? This is going to be our rendezvous."

He can tell Rhodey's about to ask another question, but the door opens, then, and Bucky and Clint come back.

They've got Bucky's gun locker, several take out containers of Chinese food, and a sturdy-looking plastic case.

They dump their haul on the dining room table, then Clint comes back into the living room with the plastic case. He unzips it, and flips it open on the coffee table in front of Steve. "Look what I found," he says triumphantly.

Steve could swear it's like Christmas come early. Inside the case, nestled into its foam liner, are a dozen long-range comm units.

 

+++++

 

They take Tony's car and another from the Stark Resilient motor pool, splitting up into two teams. Tony drives his own, with Rhodey and Clint, while Steve drives the Stark Resilient car with Natasha, Bucky, and Sam.

Tony has instructions to let Clint and Rhodey out a few blocks away from the meeting location, in case the kidnapper – or any partners – is watching. They don't want to tip their hand too early. It's better if the kidnapper thinks Tony really did come alone.

Steve takes his team the long way around, stopping the car several blocks away from the area Tony's headed. He does a quick comms check with everyone, readjusts his holster, then takes Bucky across the street. Sam and Natasha stay on the other side, and the four of them begin walking in the general direction of the street the meeting warehouse is on.

Natasha veers off a side street, and Sam stays on a more direct path.

Bucky and Steve walk as nonchalantly as they can, not talking. Steve knows it would be less conspicuous if they pretended to carry on some sort of conversation, but he needs to concentrate – he has to listen in on the comms to make sure nothing goes wrong with Clint's team, and he has to keep an eye out for anyone that might be suspicious or out of place. And, most importantly, he has to watch for any clues that might tell them which building Casey might be in.

They'd agreed the kidnapper would probably keep him close, even if they weren't going to bring him to the meeting with Tony. Steve's counting on the fact that whoever it is, they aren't going to be expecting Tony to come with a team of well-trained special ops veterans.

The streets are quiet. It's nearing midnight, but it's still New York, so it's eerie. Steve isn't used to any deserted streets in New York.

"Eyes on," Clint murmurs into his comm unit. "I'm in position."

"What do you see?" Steve asks him, grateful once more for the long range units.

"Tony's pulling up now. Don't see anyone around, though."

"Stay sharp," Steve says, knowing he doesn't need to say it. Clint is always sharp, even when he looks like he's napping at the desk in the office in the shop, feet up and hat over his eyes.

"I'm on the south perimeter," Natasha's voice comes next. Her voice is low and warm like whisky. "Clear here."

"I'm back a few blocks, but I can see Tony," says Rhodey.

"Sam? Anything to report?"

"Making my way to the east perimeter," he says. "Things are looking too quiet."

"I agree," Steve says. "Everyone, stay alert." He takes a deep breath. "Tony? How are you doing?"

"About how you'd expect."

What Steve had _expected_ was a sarcastic remark. The fact that he hadn't gotten one is only further evidence of how terrified Tony is right now.

"Remember. Stay calm, don't get too close, and stick to the script. You want Casey, you'll give them whatever they want, but you want to see him. Before you agree to anything. Try to keep them talking, yeah?"

"Got it," Tony says grimly, and then he blows out a puff of air. "Getting out of the car now."

Steve wants to wish him luck, but the words die in his throat. They're all silent for a few moments.

"I've got movement," murmurs Clint. "Female, average height. Medium blonde hair."

"That's our kidnapper," Steve says. "Keep on her, Barton."

"Where's my son?" Tony asks, and Steve can see the scene in his mind's eye. The woman standing there, and Tony approaching her slowly. Cautiously, Steve hopes.

They'd set Tony's comm unit to pick up long-range sound as well as close, so they can hear the woman's response.

"He's somewhere you can't get to him," she says, and her voice is cold.

"She's been in the shop," Clint says. "I've seen her in the Manhattan shop. Laptop lady."

"You're the fan," Tony says, realization dawning. "You – you talked to me in the coffee shop."

"I wanted to do this the easy way," she says. "But you had to be difficult. Dad always said you were nothing but a pain in his ass."

"Do I know you?"

"No," she says. "No, you don't. But you know my dad."

"Oh, yeah? Who's your dad?"

"Justin Hammer," she says.

There's a beat. Steve waits to hear Tony's reaction. He doesn't recognize the name, but he wouldn't, necessarily.

"Who?" asks Tony.

Steve blinks.

The woman makes a sound of derision. "Oh, of course, the great Tony Stark _would_ forget everyone he stepped on along the way," she says.

Tony sounds genuinely confused. "I'm sorry? I actually don't know who you're talking about."

"You know what, I don't care. The only thing that matters now is the stone."

"I… the what?"

Steve is straining to hear, because he doesn't understand, he must have misheard, but some part of him, somewhere deep in his lizard brain, there are alarm bells clanging, something isn't right, but he doesn't –

Before he can focus on the thought long enough to actually think it, all hell breaks loose.

It starts with a grunt from Rhodey, and then Natasha is on the comms, breathless. "It's an ambush," she says, sounding like she's running. "I've got four hostiles on me."

"Make it seven," grunts Sam, and he makes a sound of exertion, too.

Suddenly, there are shots fired from somewhere above. The rat-tat-tat of a semi-automatic breaks the quiet of the night, and the brick siding of the building to Steve's left explodes in little pops.

Bucky is already ducking behind a corner, and Steve gets low and does the same.

"We're taking fire," Bucky says into his comm. "Sniper northwest of us, maybe a dozen storeys up."

"Need backup?" asks Clint.

"No, stay on Tony," Steve orders.

"Got it, Cap."

"I'm making my way in deeper," Natasha pants. "Dispatched two hostiles, lost the others."

A grunt from Sam. "Don't worry about me," he says dryly. "I can handle this."

Steve glances at Bucky.

"Go," Bucky tells him. "I'll cover you, then I'll go bail Sam out."

Steve doesn't argue, because if the woman had this many people surrounding the area, there's no _way_ Casey isn't nearby.

He holds Bucky's eye for a moment, both of them silently counting in their heads, and then it's a burst of movement as Steve twists out from around the corner, back on the street, and Bucky is right there behind him, gun aimed up high. There's a muzzle flash from a window somewhere, and that was a mistake because now Bucky can zero in on the bastard.

He does, taking one shot to draw the son of a bitch's fire, and then another shot to drop him. The gunshots stop, and then Bucky takes off across the street, in the direction of Sam.

Steve doesn't wait for him. He heads further up the street, sticking to the shadows as well as he can.

"I don't know what you're _talking_ about," Tony is saying over the comms. "What _stone_?"

"Don't play dumb, Stark! It doesn't suit you."

"Shit, I got hostiles," says Rhodey. "Engaging."

"I've got you," Clint murmurs, and then there are a couple of silent shots. "Can't get a clear shot on the others."

"I _told_ you to come alone," says the woman. "I said _no cops_."

"We're not the police." It's Natasha, she must have gotten closer to Tony, and she doesn't even sound out of breath anymore. "You'll probably wish we were."

"Fuck," the woman says, and then she's yelling. "Get the kid!" she screams. "Kill him!"

"No!" howls Tony, and Steve runs faster, he doesn't even know where he's going, but it doesn't matter. He'll find Casey – he has to.

Before it's too late.

He can hear a scuffle, the high pitched squeal of feedback, and a couple of gunshots. It's too loud, Steve needs to listen for everything else – Casey yelling, hostiles trying to get the drop on him – so he pulls the comm out of his ear. He knows it's risky, to go dark, but he needs to find Casey.

It's so quiet on the street without the sound of a scuffle in his ear. He can hear gunshots faintly in the distance, but not much else.

Then, there it is. A door. Up ahead, a little to his right. A heavy door opening with a loud, metallic scrape, a thud against a concrete wall.

He picks up the pace, turns a corner just in time to see a heavy steel door slipping closed in the alley there. He bursts forward, grabs the handle, turns it and pulls it open with a jerk.

Then he's in a dark hallway, looking around frantically, and before he can figure out where he needs to go, someone is on him. He feels a fist connect with his jaw, hard, but he doesn't care because that means he's _close_.

Besides – he'd always done well with hand-to-hand combat.

The first two goons, who come at him from a doorway in the dark hall, he dispatches easily. A block, a dodge, a couple of swift punches, and they're both down, neither of them moving any time soon.

He doesn't stay where he is, continuing down the hallway, ears straining for any indication as to where in the building Casey might be.

He sees the muzzle flash ahead of him at the same time as the loud report of a gun firing in his direction. A pistol at close range, but clearly the guy is a bad shot, because the bullet hits the wall behind him, raining drywall dust down.

He ducks into a doorway, head down, takes two deep breaths, then whirls around the corner and fires, three shots from his own gun, and there's one that hits the wall behind the guy, from the sound of it. Two of them don't make any sound at all, though, meaning they've hit flesh. A howl of pain, then the guy is dropping to his knees in the hallway, and Steve just steps over him, kicking the gun out of his hand because fuck that guy, fuck _all of them_ , because they _took Casey_.

The third set of thugs is a little better trained, better prepared, and this time Steve takes a couple of punches to the face. Of course, this time it's four on one, so Steve had expected to take a couple of licks. He dodges some kind of blunt force weapon – it might be a pipe or a wrench, he doesn't get a good look at it. Only that it's coming straight for his head. He rolls, sweeping a leg out to bring the guy down, and then flips up to bring an elbow into another guy's face, the satisfying crunch of a nose breaking almost drowned out by a grunt of pain.

The third guy gets a good kick into the side of Steve's knee, and it's still a little tender from the accident with Tony – a lifetime ago but really only days – and Steve's vision goes white. He's down, landing on his good knee and then listing over to the side, but he knows he can't stop, knows there isn't a chance that he can lay down for even a second and still save Casey, so he aims his gun in the general direction of the bastard who'd taken his knee out, and he shoots twice. The guy goes down instantly, and he doesn't move.

One guy left, but instead of coming for Steve where he's vulnerable and prone on the floor, the guy retreats, backs off and runs down the corridor.

There's only one place he'd be going – either he's gone to get to Casey before Steve can, or he's running away.

Steve assumes he's headed for Casey. If nothing else, he'd have to be a piece of shit to kidnap a child in the first place, so surely he wouldn't have an issue with using the boy as a human shield.

Steve will just have to make him regret it.

He drags himself to his feet, and he has to bite viciously down on the inside of his cheek in order to keep from screaming when he puts weight on his knee, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't care – pain is secondary.

Casey is primary.

He hobbles down the corridor after the chickenshit goon, and there's a door open at the end of the hall. He wonders if that's where Casey is, if the bastard had disappeared into that room, and then –

A scream. High-pitched and terrified, and it's definitely Casey.

Suddenly, Steve can't even feel his knee anymore, he's too busy feeling his heart in his throat, feeling the rush of adrenaline that he needs to burst forward, running down the hall and into that room.

Casey is there, held by a vise-like arm around his middle in front of the thug.

The bastard has a gun in his other hand, pressed against the side of Casey's head.

Casey is struggling, tiny little hands clawing at the forearm around his waist. He's screaming, still, kicking out, slamming his head back against the guy's chest. Steve can see that the guy doesn't have a great hold on him, that he hadn't been prepared for Casey to fight back so hard.

It fills Steve with an inexplicable, fierce burst of pride.

"Steve!" Casey hollers, when he catches sight of Steve in the doorway, and it's enough to distract the guy holding onto him, and out of reflex the goon pulls the gun away from Casey's head, aims it toward Steve in the doorway.

Casey kicks again, hard, his spindly knee bending so he can stomp back, and his little heel connects with the bastard's groin.

It knocks the air out of his lungs, and his arm loosens enough for Casey to slide free, and Casey runs to Steve, fast as he can. The guy is trying not to slide to the ground, and Steve pushes Casey behind him, where he can be protected, pushes him out the door.

"Turn around, Case!" he yells, and Casey doesn't even hesitate. He's so good, such a good kid, Steve thinks wildly, and as soon as Casey's turned around, Steve unloads the rest of his clip into the guy.

He slips the gun back in its holster and turns, dropping to his knee and flinching at the pain in the other, grabs Casey in both hands and searches his face.

Casey is crying, he's white and small and afraid, but he's _okay_. Steve hauls the boy into his arms, holding him tight and reveling in the feel of Casey in his arms.

He stands, keeping Casey against his chest with both arms, clutching him protectively.

"Where's – where's my daddy?" Casey asks through sobs. "The lady said – the lady said he was hurt, is he – is Daddy okay?"

"He's okay, buddy," Steve murmurs into Casey's hair. "He's just fine, Case, he's not hurt."

He doesn't know if he's lying or not, but he hopes he's telling the truth. He'd likely know for sure if he'd kept his comm unit in, but he needed to get to Casey without the distraction.

He puts it back in his ear now, letting go of Casey briefly with one arm.

"Goddammit, Rogers you answer me right this instant!"

"Steve! Do you copy?"

"Nat has the bitch contained, I'm abandoning post to look for him."

It's a cacophony of sound, of various team members yelling at him, yelling _for_ him, and he hadn't thought about how worried they'd be, he'd just –

"I've got him," he croaks into the comm. "I've got Casey, he's okay, I've got him."

And now they're _really_ yelling. Tony's voice somehow breaks through the chaos and Steve is so relieved to hear his voice that his knees almost turn to water.

"Oh, God, Steve, he's okay?"

"He's _okay_ ," Steve agrees. "We're coming out, I've got him."

"Everything is secured out here," Bucky says into his comm, voice impossibly relieved. "Next time you take that comm out of your ear on a mission I'm going to staple it to your skull."

"Got it," Steve says, holding Casey a little tighter to himself as he limps down the hall.

But none of it matters. Bucky can be as outraged as he wants.

Casey is safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4808/31101925397_c5f9e405fd_b.jpg).


	12. Chapter 12

**December**

Tony hands the car keys over to Rhodey, and sits in the back with Casey wrapped up in his arms. He doesn't let Casey out of his grip the whole ride back to Manhattan.

Casey is clearly exhausted from his ordeal, but he's not hurt. He's half asleep but still whimpering from time to time in Tony's arms.

When Steve had brought Casey back to him, Tony had – he doesn't have words for how he'd felt. Relief is too mild a term. His chest still aches with it, with setting eyes on Casey.

Clint, Sam and Steve are in the car with them. Clint is squished into the other side of the back seat, and Steve is in the middle.

Natasha had said to take Casey home, that she would 'take care' of the woman who had taken Casey. Tony doesn't know exactly what that means – he mostly hopes it means Natasha would call the police and stay with the woman until they arrived, but if it meant something else, Tony's not even entirely sure he'd give a shit.

Bucky had stayed with her. The woman had said her name was Hammer, but Tony still has no idea who she is, or who her father is. There's a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he _used_ to know, that he _could_ know. But it's fleeting, and seems to disappear whenever he tries to grab hold of it.

Steve's body is obscenely close to Tony's, and he's warm and solid and he'd _saved Tony's son_.

Steve has a hand resting against Casey's leg, as though he can't quite make himself let go of the boy, either.

When Steve had come limping down the street, face bloodied and swollen and sure to bruise, with Casey held tightly in his arms, Tony had known, then, that Steve isn't just some distraction, some infatuation. That while Tony might still think he's not quite good enough for someone of Steve Rogers' calibre, that Steve Rogers might just fit into their little family, anyway.

Steve obviously loves Casey. He would clearly risk his life for Tony's son.

So maybe, just maybe, Tony has reason to believe that Steve might have some of those same positive feelings for Tony?

Tony presses his nose into Casey's hair, letting the smell of blueberry-scented shampoo fill his senses.

Rhodey drives to Brooklyn first. Sam and Clint get out of the car, and Steve moves as though he's going to follow, but he's reluctant about breaking physical contact with Casey.

Tony takes a deep, fortifying breath. He's emotionally drained, probably compromised, but he can't _not_ say it.

"You can come with us, if you like," Tony says. "I know you – I know you care about him. If you're not ready to – to separate, or whatever, yet. I can make up the guest room."

Steve looks at him, blinking slowly, and Tony can see the relief in his eyes. "I'd like that," he says softly. "If you're sure?"

"I'm sure," Tony whispers into Casey's hair, even though he's entirely not.

 

+++++

 

Rhodey comes upstairs long enough to make Steve and Tony each a cup of tea, but then he leans against the kitchen counter. "You gonna be okay, Tones?"

"Yeah." Tony points his chin in Steve's direction. "I've got company."

"Put Casey to bed," Rhodey says with a small smile. "I can show myself out."

"Thanks," Tony says, giving Rhodey as meaningful a look as he can. "I mean that. Thank you, Rhodey."

"For that boy? Any time."

Tony stands, cradling Casey in his arms. Casey has fallen asleep, but Tony knows he won't be comfortable. He's tempted to bring Casey to bed with him, but he knows it will be better for Casey to wake up in his own bed. It might help convince his brain he's safe now. Home. That everything is back to normal.

Steve gets up and comes along with him, helping Tony take off Casey's shoes and socks, his jeans. He'll be comfortable enough in his T-shirt, so Steve pulls the bedclothes back and Tony carefully lays him down. Steve pulls the blankets back up and tucks them around Casey gently, and Tony's heart pounds at how beautiful an image it is.

Tony leans down and kisses Casey's forehead, then leads Steve out of the room. They hang back in the hallway for a moment, watching Casey's breaths deepen and lengthen.

Finally, Tony tears himself away. Casey is the most precious thing he's ever known, and without Steve, Tony's not sure he would have him back now.

It's enough to put everything in perspective. Life is short – far too short to let a little thing like self-doubt get in the way of anything. Sure, he'd always thought trying to bring romance into his life would take away from his time with Casey, but he's starting to realize that he's looking at it entirely the wrong way.

Romance wouldn't take away from his life with Casey. It would _enhance_ it.

At least, romance with the right person.

Tony leads Steve out to the living room, taking a quick detour to the kitchen to pick up their tea. He sits on one end of the sofa, watching as Steve takes the other.

"I really can't thank you enough for what you did tonight," Tony says a moment later, his voice a little hoarse.

"Tony, how could I _not_ –"

"So this is me, not saying thank you," Tony continues, interrupting him. "I want you to know that. This isn't some, I don't know, misplaced sense of gratitude. This is something I should have said to you a week ago, when we were stuck in that stupid motel near Syracuse."

"Tony…"

"Hear me out, Steve," Tony says, setting his tea down on the coffee table and turning his body slightly so he's facing Steve head-on, one knee curled up beside him on the couch. "I wanna get this out. I don't – I don't do this, I _never_ do this, but you really… you made an impact on me, Steve. Before tonight, even. You're kind, and generous, and funny and smart, and you work so hard, and you've done so many amazing things. You're basically the perfect guy. And yeah, you have imperfections, but that almost makes you _more_ perfect, because you're _real_."

"Tony –"

"And I know I'm probably stepping over a line, but tonight proved that, if nothing else, sometimes you have to take a leap of faith. Sometimes you have to do the thing that scares you the most if it means you might get something perfect and amazing and real at the end."

" _Tony_ –"

"So I don't know how you feel, I really don't, but I need you to know how _I_ feel. That's important to me. The way I feel about you, Steve, I haven't –" Tony is cut off, then, as Steve sets his own mug of tea down and lurches forward, grabs hold of Tony's biceps with his big, warm hands and presses his mouth to Tony's.

Steve's lips are smooth and dry, and it's a chaste kiss, by all measurements. Steve's lips slide against his for just a moment, and Tony is paralyzed. Is Steve really _kissing_ him? After that – after that ridiculous, humiliating speech, Steve is _kissing_ him?

Steve pulls back just a little, eyes searching Tony's at close range. They're so blue Tony could drown in them.

Steve stares at him, and Tony stares back, for several long beats. Then Tony is pressing forward, lips sealing over Steve's, and this time the kiss is hot and rough, lips slick and tongues sliding together.

Steve makes a low moan in the back of his throat, and Tony can't resist it, he'd thought he'd _lost_ Steve tonight. He'd gone quiet, Tony had heard shots, and no one could rouse him on the comms for what felt like a lifetime.

But Steve is _safe_. He's warm and solid and here in Tony's arms, kissing Tony, big hands working their way up to cradle Tony's head, fingers burrowing into Tony's unkempt hair.

Tony presses up, pushes up onto his knees and hitches a leg up and over Steve's lap so he can straddle the other man. Steve groans and kisses Tony more fervently as Tony sits on his lap. Tony shifts forward, feels the answering beginnings of arousal at Steve's groin, and lets out a low moan of his own as he lets his blunt nails scrape down Steve's chest.

"Ah!" Steve cries, and it's not a sexy noise, not really, so Tony rears back, hands up defensively, not sure what he's done wrong but knowing it's _something_ , and –

"Sorry, just – hit a sore spot," Steve says breathlessly, and Tony is such an _asshole_.

"Oh, shit, Steve, I shouldn't – oh, god, you're hurt, shit, I'll –" he moves to get up off Steve's lap, but Steve's hands grasp at his hips, holding Tony there.

"Don't stop," Steve says, voice low and warm and intimate. "I didn't say stop."

"But you're hurt – you need rest, you need painkillers, you need something that isn't me pawing at you like a teenager."

"I _like_ you pawing at me," Steve says with a lazy smile. His face turns serious again. "I mean it, Tony. I've wanted this, wanted you, for a long time. After tonight… I don't want to lose our chance."

"I thought you were dead," Tony admits weakly, not quite able to meet Steve's eyes. "When we couldn't reach you on the comms. I thought you were dead, that I'd lost Casey _and_ you on the same day, and I didn't think I could survive it."

Steve hauls Tony against him, wrapping his arms around Tony and hugging him fiercely. "Shh," he says soothingly. "I'm right here, Tony. I'm not going anywhere. I'm safe, and Casey's safe, and we're both right here."

He tips his chin up and kisses Tony again, and this time it's less frantic – warm, slow, honey kisses that start to pick up speed after a long time.

Tony can only grind on Steve's lap for so long, he thinks, before he loses his mind. He reluctantly pulls his tongue back out of Steve's mouth and moves to stand.

"Come on, honey," he says, licking his lips. "Bedroom's more comfortable."

Steve stands to follow, still limping a little as they walk toward Tony's room. Tony can't help but look down at Steve's leg, the same one he'd hurt in the car accident, but Steve just squeezes his hand and gives a reassuring shake of his head. "It'll be fine, Tony. Nothing a couple days and some Tylenol won't cure."

Tony thinks he's probably lying, but it doesn't matter. They're both here, and alive, and together.

That's all that matters.

 

+++++

 

They undress one another slowly, gently. Each time Tony removes an article of Steve's clothing, he kisses the newly exposed skin. He's seen Steve naked before, of course, but this is different. He's covered in bruises – some fresh, some from the car accident that had been only a week ago. Tony kisses each bruise with a soft brush of lips.

Steve's hands are pushing at Tony's clothes clumsily, eyes roaming over Tony's body as he reveals skin. His hands are surprisingly soft, except for a few calluses here and there.

Once they've got each other stripped down to nothing more than their underwear – and Tony is proud to say he's wearing normal underwear today, with his ass covered and everything – Steve presses him down to the mattress and hovers over him, his erection grinding lightly into Tony's thigh as they kiss. Steve's own thigh is brushing against Tony's erection, and it's maddeningly light.

"Is Casey a light sleeper?" Steve asks, breaking his lips away from the sensitive flesh of Tony's neck, just behind his ear.

"No," Tony says a little breathlessly. "Not usually, he'll be fine. Just – keep it down if we can?"

"You got it," Steve says with a warm smile.

"I don't – shit, I might have condoms in a drawer somewhere but they're at least six years old," Tony says, realizing. Fuck, of all the things to not buy. He's got lube because he's not a big fan of chafing, but he doesn't have condoms.

"That's okay," Steve murmurs against Tony's ear. "We don't have to."

Tony lets his head drop back onto the pillow behind his head, looking balefully at Steve above him. "I _want_ to," Tony groans. "God, do you know how long it's been since I've had sex?"

Steve chuckles, and it sounds warm and intoxicating. "We don't have to do it all in one night, Tony." His expression falters a little, and suddenly he looks young and unsure. "I mean, I'm clean, after my last test, and I haven't been with anyone since, well – for a while."

Tony looks up at him, eyes searching. "Are you – I mean, I haven't been with anyone since Ru, so I'm, you know, I'm clean, too."

"Yeah?" Steve says, and Tony knows he's asking more than that. _Do you want me? Do you trust me? Do you love me?_

"Yes," Tony answers seriously, nodding his head. "Yes, Steve, please. I want – I want you to."

"You want me to make love to you?"

Tony almost wants to laugh at the earnestness of the term, but he can't quite bring himself to do it. It's so quintessentially Steve, to say something as old fashioned and wholesome as 'make love', but he somehow manages to make it sound right. Instead, he nods and tips his lips up for another kiss.

Steve obliges wholeheartedly, mouth sliding over Tony's heatedly. Tony licks at the seam of Steve's lips, and Steve rewards him by parting them. Tony groans at the taste of him.

"Do you have – mm – do you have lube?" Steve asks into his mouth between kisses.

"Top drawer," Tony answers, waving distractedly in the direction of the night stand.

Steve reaches for it, but it's too far away. Tony grins wickedly up at him, pushing Steve off and to the side and following straight after so that Steve is lying on his back now, with Tony straddling his hips.

A laugh burbles out of Steve's chest as Tony reaches for the drawer, keeping his mouth on Steve's. He manages to snag the bottle of lube, dropping it on the bed beside Steve before he starts kissing his way down Steve's chest and stomach.

"God, honey, the second I saw you I knew I wanted to get my tongue all over you," he confesses. "And that night in Syracuse? When I had to put you in the _bath_? God, I thought I was going to die."

Steve laughs. "You thought _you_ were going to die? The first time I saw your ass, I knew it was the most perfect thing I was ever going to see," he laughs, running his hands through Tony's hair. "And then you were wearing that goddamned _jock_. Bare ass hanging out and I was supposed to _sleep_ beside you?"

Tony laughs, too, kissing across Steve's belly.

Finally, he's about eye-level with Steve's erection, straining against the confines of his boxer briefs. Tony can't quite help himself, and he licks at the fabric, sucking the head of Steve's cock into his mouth. Even through the cotton, Tony can feel the solid heat of him. Steve's fingers tighten a little in Tony's hair, but he doesn't pull or push. It's more like he's holding on a little tighter.

"God, Tony," he says, and Tony decides they've been dancing around this long enough.

He pulls the waistband up over Steve's erection and pushes the shorts down his thighs, mouth watering at the length of Steve's dick, right in his face. He's uncircumcised, which Tony hadn't really expected. He's not small – he's a big guy everywhere, though, so that's not as much of a surprise.

His erection curves slightly back toward his body, and it's thick, resting proudly against Steve's belly.

Tony leans down to take Steve into his mouth once more, the bitter salty taste exploding over his tongue. He licks at the head, sucks at the slit, softens his lips and pushes down to fit as much into his mouth as he can.

Steve groans above him, hips shifting restlessly as Tony dips his tongue into Steve's foreskin, lapping at the bead of precome that it inspires. He wraps his hand around the base, brushes his wrist against Steve's sac.

"I need you to take those off," Steve grits out, indicating Tony's underwear. "I need you naked."

Tony shivers at the desire in Steve's voice, shifting up on his knees so he can push his shorts down.

"C'mere," Steve murmurs, patting against Tony's flank. "I want to taste you, too."

Tony groans, then does as he's told, shifting around until he and Steve are laying side by side on the bed, facing one another but head to toe. He keeps his lips wrapped around Steve's cock the whole time, and the second his own groin is within reach, Steve takes Tony into his mouth and sucks him in deep.

Tony gasps, toes clenching, then moans as Steve pulls Tony's top thigh up over his shoulder.

The angle is weird on both their necks, but Tony doesn't care – the pleasure feedback loop of his mouth on Steve's cock and Steve's mouth on his is too good to worry about it.

Tony doesn't notice Steve picking up the lube bottle or opening it, but he _does_ notice when slick fingers start caressing his entrance, sliding over the furled skin. He moans, tries to relax. It really has been a while, so he has to work for it, but Steve's fingers, while large and blunt, are gentle.

Steve slips just one finger in to the first knuckle, tonguing at Tony's cock as he does, and waits for Tony to get used to the feeling.

He pushes in farther as soon as he feels Tony relax, and Tony moans at the intrusion.

Steve's finger twists, pulling out a little and pushing back in. He pulls all the way out to add more lube, and then he's back with two fingers, pressing in and out to stretch Tony open.

The third finger is a bit much at first, but Steve eases it in carefully, giving Tony lots of time to adjust. Ordinarily, Tony doesn't think he'd need the third finger, but it's been so long since he's been with a man, and Steve's cock really is on the large side.

Tony pulls back, letting Steve fall from his mouth, and moans, panting as Steve circles his fingers over Tony's prostate.

"You're gorgeous, Tony," Steve murmurs, pulling away from Tony's cock as well. "Are you ready for me?"

"Fuck, yes, just – come on, honey, let me –" Tony shifts up on his knees, letting Steve's fingers slide out of him reluctantly. He grabs the lube from beside Steve's head, pours a little into his hand and wraps it around Steve's dick as he pushes Steve to lie on his back again.

He slicks Steve's cock and then hitches one leg over his hips, straddling him.

Steve stares directly into Tony's eyes, not blinking, and reaches between them to guide himself to Tony's hole.

Tony keeps that eye contact, trying to project the maelstrom of feelings – happiness, joy, love, desire, relief, gratitude – as he slowly sinks down, bringing Steve into his body.

He feels even bigger than he looks, and Tony's legs are trembling by the time he makes it all the way down, gets Steve's cock seated all the way inside him.

Steve's eyelashes are fluttering and his chest is heaving, but he's still holding Tony's gaze, and Tony can see his own emotions mirrored back to him.

God, he loves this man.

Tony shifts up and then back down, easing into a smooth, gentle rhythm, riding Steve slowly. Steve's hands fly up to take hold of Tony's hips, thumbs rubbing tiny circles over his hip bones.

"You feel good, love," Steve whispers. "So good for me."

Tony makes a quiet sound in his throat, and then he starts moving faster, pushing up higher so that the hot-slick-slide of Steve's cock into him is longer and deeper.

He rides for a long while, arching his back and circling his hips and grinding down to try to put as much pressure on his own prostate as he can. He knows he's chasing his own pleasure more than he's trying to make it good for Steve, but by the sounds Steve is making and the way his hands are tightening on Tony's hips, Tony can be reasonably sure he's having just as good a time.

Steve starts thrusting up into Tony's body, and Tony braces himself on his knees, opening himself up wider. Steve picks up the pace, fucking up into him roughly.

"God, Tony, I can't –" Steve breaks off, the tendons in his neck straining. His fingers are like clamps on Tony's hips, holding him still as Steve works in him, leveraging himself with his feet planted on the bed.

"Steve, Steve, Steve," Tony chants, throwing his head back. It's like the earth is moving in him, under him, and all he can do is hold on for dear life. He reaches down with one hand, the one still slick with lube, and he wraps it around his own straining cock.

Steve lets out a strangled noise, grinding up and fucking into Tony, and then everything is hotter and slicker, and he knows that means Steve is coming in him, filling him.

Tony keens, thrusts down and jerks himself off, hand stroking hard and fast over his own erection because he's close, he's so close, he just needs –

– then Steve's hand is covering Tony's own, adding pressure and the touch of a foreign hand and Tony can feel it washing over him, like a high wave. An instant of stillness as everything comes into pinpoint focus, and then an explosion of pleasure as he comes, spurting over their joined hands, over Steve's belly and chest.

He keeps moving, riding hard and fast through the aftershocks, until they're both trembling and Tony falls into a heap over Steve's chest.

They're both spent, gasping for air and covered in sweat. Tony shivers, keening slightly as Steve rubs soothing hands up and down his flanks, his back, over his ass.

"That's it, Tony," Steve murmurs into his hair. "That's good, you're so good."

"Jesus Christ," Tony says, muffled against Steve's shoulder. "Fuck."

Steve chuckles. "I was just thinkin' that."

"I don't think I'm gonna be able to walk right for a week," Tony says, lips a little uncooperative. "You proud of yourself?"

"Pretty proud, yeah," Steve says with a laugh, wrapping his arms around Tony's back.

"We should shower," Tony says after another moment of basking in the afterglow, in the recovery of a truly wonderful orgasm. "We're gonna stick together."

"Wouldn't mind bein' stuck with you for a good, long while," Steve says, and Tony gives himself a moment to acknowledge the little thrill of pleasure before he retorts.

"You're a big sap, aren't you?"

"Nah, I just don't feel like moving," Steve says, lips twitching.

"Don't try to fool me, Rogers, I know your secret now. You're just a great big sap."

"Fine, you caught me," Steve says, leaning up and pressing a peck of a kiss to the tip of Tony's nose.

Tony wrinkles his nose up in mock displeasure, making an offended scoffing noise in the back of his throat.

"You're fine, you whiner," Steve says, nipping at Tony's chin.

"Eugh, you're too sappy, I gotta go," Tony says, pushing up and away from Steve. Steve keeps his arms locked around Tony's back, though, so he can't get away. Even as Steve's cock slips out of him, even as he fights, laughing, to try and get away from Steve's hold, Steve rolls them both so that he's hovering over Tony on the bed again, then grins and leans down to give Tony a real, proper kiss.

Tony melts into it, purring with pleasure, even whining a little when Steve pulls back.

"There, now we've settled that, I think it's time for that shower, don't you?" Steve says. "Not sure what's the hold up."

"You're the worst."

"You love me," Steve points out.

And yeah, actually. Tony really does love him.

 

+++++

 

They take their time under the spray, gently washing one another with Tony's vanilla spice body wash. They interrupt themselves with constant kissing and teasing touches, but they don't let it go any further than that. There'll be time again tomorrow.

They fall into bed and sleep almost immediately.

Only to have everything shatter when they wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4840/32170010628_59e9d3e116_b.jpg).


	13. Chapter 13

**An Evening with Natasha (December)**

"She ever gonna wake up?" Bucky asks, hands hanging carelessly between his spread knees as he sits on an old wooden stool in the small room they've taken the woman into. He looks completely relaxed, without a care in the world. He could be a sitting on a park bench, feeding the pigeons, for as much tension as there is in his body. 

That's one of many things Natasha appreciates about him. She knows that underneath that calm, a storm rages in Bucky as it does in her. It's buried deep, but it's there. A talent neither of them had asked for. 

If the woman bound to the chair in the centre of the room were to make an unexpected noise, if she were to move in an unanticipated way, Bucky would be on his feet and at her throat in less than an instant. 

It's a skill Natasha has, as well. An instinct. 

She thinks Bucky might have learned it in the middle east, during his time overseas. A necessary education in survival. 

She'd learned it earlier than that. 

Clint has it as well, as does Steve. But for them, it is warm. For Bucky and Natasha, it's like frost across a window in the dark. Glittering like ice and snow. A cold detachment that keeps them at a distance. 

For Clint and Steve, it's like a burst of light, a moment when the sun crests the horizon in the east, turning the dim shadows of dawn into an explosion of colour, light and warmth. It's why Bucky and Natasha have been so drawn to both of them, she imagines. 

It's also why Bucky is here with her in this warehouse, and Clint and Steve have gone home. 

Away from the darkness here. 

The woman stirs, finally, but neither Bucky nor Natasha move. They simply watch for a moment as the woman lifts her head. Lanky hair hangs in her face, and it takes her a long time to blink her eyes clear. 

They hadn't hit her _that_ hard. The big baby. 

"You gonna start talkin'? Or are we gonna start gettin' mean?" Bucky lets a little bit of his Brooklyn upbringing bleed through in his speech, and Natasha imagines it's a calculated move. To make himself seem tough and stupid, some thoughtless thug she can let her guard down with. Natasha almost wants to see what happens if the woman underestimates him. 

"Fuck you," the woman spits, her voice thick. She does manage to lift her head and make eye contact with him, but Natasha can see the tiny little tremble in her fingers, tied behind her back. 

She's scared. 

That's good. Smart. 

"That's not very nice of you," Natasha says, faux-sweet. "We just want to talk." 

The woman laughs, an edge of desperation in it. "Dad was right," she says, sniffing. 

"Right about what?" Natasha asks. 

"About you all being morons." She coughs a little, and winces. Hmm, maybe Natasha _had_ been a little hard on her ribs. 

"Are we?" 

"Of _course_ you are. Do you think Thanos is far behind? If I could find you, what makes you think he can't?" 

"Thanos?" Natasha asks. She doesn't know the name. She _doesn't_. But at the same time, she feels her pulse jump, feels her thoughts scatter for an instant. It doesn't last long, but a glance sideways at Bucky tells her that he'd felt it, too. Not recognition, not a memory. More like a record needle skipping before it rights itself. A jarring confusion, and then it's smoothed over and everything is fine. 

Is it fine? 

"Don't play dumb, Widow," the woman says snidely. The strange nickname makes the record skip again. "You and I both know why you're all here. Trying to _hide_ the stone, like that will help. No, you can't _hide_ it, you have to _use_ it." 

"What stone?" Bucky asks, and he looks unsure. 

"Wow, you guys are really stickin' to the story, aren't you?" 

"Let's start with something simpler," Natasha says, forcing her body to calm. The jitter in her extremities stops immediately, and she slows her breathing. "Tell us your name." 

The woman blows out a huff of breath. "Justine Hammer. You remember my dad, don't you, Widow? You ruined his life – and mine." 

Natasha sneaks a glance at Bucky, who's looking at her questioningly. She lets her left shoulder twitch up in a shrug to indicate that she doesn't know what Hammer is talking about. 

Hammer stares at them both, and Natasha thinks she can clock the exact moment it starts to fall into place for her. That Natasha and Bucky have no idea what she's talking about. 

"You really don't know?" She sounds almost lost. 

"Why don't you tell us, and we'll let you know when it starts ringin' bells," Bucky says, sinking into a loose, easy crouch in front of her chair. He reaches up to brush a stringy lock of hair out of her eyes, and she flinches back. "Start talkin', sweetheart." 

"The _mind stone_ ," she says, eyes wide. "How the hell are you even supposed to protect it if you don't know you _have_ it? Oh my god, Stark is even dumber than Daddy said!" 

"Stark, specifically?" 

"All of you! God, Earth's mightiest heroes my _ass_. Half a dozen of you here and none of you even knows where the stone is!" 

"What is this mind stone?" 

"Guaranteed immortality! The power of an infinity stone! The ultimate weapon!" 

Bucky and Natasha exchange another look. 

"You – God, you're all idiots. Don't you get it yet? None of this is _real_. It's all – it's all magic!" 

Bucky's eyebrow goes up at that, and Natasha just gives him another barely-perceptible shrug. 

Hammer is getting increasingly frustrated, her voice rising in pitch and volume as she speaks. Natasha decides it's quite sloppy, but then, she doesn't expect many people to be properly trained to withstand advanced interrogation techniques. 

Not that they had gotten anywhere even _resembling_ 'advanced' before Hammer had started bleating. 

"I had to bribe my way through. The so-called 'Sorcerer Supreme' thinks he's the only name in magic, but he's not. There's people out there that deserve to be there more than him, you just gotta find them. So I did – I found one, she knew what he'd done. That he'd created this fake little pocket, and that you'd brought the mind stone here. She got me in." 

"Why did you take Casey?" 

"Because we're running out of time! Thanos is coming, and I thought if I took Stark's kid he'd tell me where the stone is. But he's so self-centred even _that_ wasn't enough." 

"You think he knows where it is?" Bucky asks Natasha, his voice low but not so quiet Hammer can't hear. 

"Of course he does! Of course _you_ do. You all do, you just won't _tell_ me because you want to keep it for yourselves." 

"You don't deserve it," Natasha tries, bluffing out a hunch. 

"I deserve it more than _you_ ," Hammer spits. "You're hiding it here, like scared little children, when you could be _using_ it. Don't you understand? You could save the world from Thanos with that – you could destroy him, you could be _real_ heroes. But instead, you're just sitting here, cooling your heels and playing house, like the world isn't ending out there." 

"Tell us more about Thanos," Natasha says. 

Hammer falters a little. "He's – he's an alien, or something. I've been keeping my ear to the ground, you know, so I hear things. He's coming to get the stones, and then he's going to destroy the earth, and getting the stone for yourself is the only way to stop him." 

"So why you?" 

"So that it's not _you_. You and your 'super friends'. It's about time someone else got the glory, don't you think? Especially when you're the ones who tucked tail and ran. This would exonerate my dad, it would save the world, and it would make _me_ the real hero here." 

"So you took Casey as what, blackmail? You thought you were gonna get the stone as ransom?" Bucky asks. His voice hardens, and Natasha can see his fist clench. 

She feels it, too. The fierce protectiveness over the child, _and_ the outrage – the burning fury – at Hammer for having touched a hair on his head. 

"You just thought you could touch him and get away with it?" Bucky steps forward, eyes burning. Natasha doesn't stop him. 

"He's not even _real_!" Hammer yelps. "He's not from the real world, he's just part of the illusion! I don't even know why he's _here_ , it doesn't make any sense! They sent you all here to protect the stone, why did they think you'd have time to raise a pretend kid?" 

Natasha wants to tear her apart, suddenly – to rend her limb from limb, for daring to talk about Casey at all, let alone for spouting lies. Her carefully maintained calm shatters, and she's got her hand at Hammer's throat, manicured fingers wrapped around it. She doesn't squeeze, not yet. She lets all her anger, all her malice show in her usually impassive face, and Hammer rears back, panicked for a moment before her eyes widen comically further. 

"Oh, god. That's why – he's _not_ an illusion," Hammer says, and Natasha knows what she's going to say, feels the same realization dawning on her, and she wants to _stop_ it, wants to make Hammer _shut up_ because if she says it, that will make it real, that will make all of it true, and that will destroy the illusion, that will spit them back out into the real world, and they'll have failed – they're the only thing keeping the mind stone away from Thanos and if Hammer says it aloud it will shatter everything and Thanos will be able to find them – 

But it can't be true. She knows, at the same time, that she _knows_ who she is. Natasha Romanoff, she grew up in New England, bounced from foster home to foster home and some of them were good, but some of them were – she left young, joined the army, was in black ops – she learned the ballet – no, she doesn't dance the ballet, why does she think she knows ballet? – SHIELD brought her in – who is SHIELD? – but where is Clint? He was here, and now he's not, and she's got Bucky here but where is Clint? And Casey, Where is Casey? 

Where is _the stone_? 

"He's not an illusion," Hammer is saying, voice strained under Natasha's merciless hand – squeezing now – around her throat. "I had it the whole time. The kid _is_ the mind stone." 

It rushes over Natasha like a torrent of water, and then there's nothing but silent, inky black for long moments. 

She opens her eyes and gasps for air. The warehouse is gone, they're not even in New York anymore; they had been tucked away in a fortified bunker in Wakanda, and maybe they're there still. It doesn't matter. What matters is she _knows_. 

They're back. They're back from the place Strange had sent them. 

And Thanos is coming for them. 


	14. Chapter 14

**May 2018**

It had been strange, watching the odd-looking spaceship full of aliens – and Peter Quill – touch down in the middle of the Avengers Compound. Tony had watched from his window for a bare moment before suiting up, calling for Rhodey to do the same, and then going to confront the ship.

But Thor had stumbled out, bloody and beaten, one eye gone and a patch in its place. His hair was shorn short, and he looked tired and dirty.

Bruce Banner had stumbled out after him, looking haunted, jittery with nerves, like a stiff wind would blow him over or make him hulk out. Possibly both at the same time.

Tony had been so happy to see them, especially Bruce. It had been years, and he'd missed his friends. He'd been so tired of missing his friends.

Tony and Rhodey had stood down, and Vision had done his gliding-flying thing out to the field, and they'd greeted the _actual freakin' aliens – including a talking adolescent tree –_ that had stepped out from behind Thor and Bruce.

"This is not a social call, my friends," Thor had said, looking sad. "We must prepare for war. Thanos is on his way, and I fear we do not have much time."

The name alone made Tony's blood run cold. He'd asked Thor to say it again, hoping it wasn't the name that had been in his head for years, since the day they'd beat the Chitauri.

 

+++++

 

It had only been minutes, and suddenly a sparking gold ring – a portal – had opened up next to Tony, and through it he could see what looked like a rich, Victorian parlour. A tall, slim man with a beard and – for god's sake, an actual cape – had stepped out, as well as a round-cheeked Chinese man dressed in silk robes.

"Doctor Strange," Thor had greeted him, wary. "We were not expecting you."

"You know this guy?" Tony had asked. Bruce was looking as confused as Tony felt, though, so he didn't feel too badly out of the loop. At least, he wasn't _alone_ outside the loop.

"We've met," said the tall man. "You're Tony Stark."

"And you're someone who just walked through a portal. Just after I met a bunch of aliens following Thor around like puppies," Tony said.

"I'm not an alien," Quill said. "Mostly."

Tony had turned to Rhodey. "Please tell me you smell burnt toast."

"I wish," Rhodey had muttered, glancing around at the circus surrounding them.

The tall, slim man – Thor had called him Dr. Strange – turned and set his eyes on Vision. He stared for a moment, then turned to address the entire group.

"We have a lot to talk about," he said. He turned to Thor. "The space stone. Do you have it?"

"No. I sent Loki to hide it. I had no other choice."

"Good. The more we can scatter them, the better."

"Scatter what?" Tony asked.

"Then why did you come here, where Vision is?" Thor asked.

"What are we scattering?" Tony tried again.

"Because it's not going to be enough," Strange replied. "If Thanos makes it here, then having the mind stone and the time stone on different ends of the earth won't even be enough. In order to protect them, I'll need more resources."

"What the _hell_ are we scattering?" Tony growled, raising his voice.

Everyone turned to look at him, but it was Bruce who gave him a sympathetic smile. "The Infinity stones, Tony. Thanos is coming for them."

 

+++++

 

Tony hadn't quite been able to bring himself to call Steve on that stupid fucking flip phone he'd sent. Tony, of course, kept it charged and on his person at all times, because he wasn't an idiot. If he was ever going to need to call Steve for help – and god, he hated that he'd one day possibly have to call Steve for help – he needed to be ready at a moment's notice. The apocalypse wasn't going to give him a chance to find a wall outlet to charge the phone so he could call reinforcements.

But he couldn't bring himself to call. He'd wanted his first call to Steve to be… something else. An apology – from either of them, from both of them. A reconciliation. Something. Not an actual end-of-the-world call. He didn't want this to be the first time he and Steve spoke after Siberia. Instead, Tony had sent a text.

_Thor's back. Bruce, too. They come bearing news and terror. How fast can you get here?_

The reply had come only moments later. As though Steve had been keeping his phone charged and on his person at all times, too.

Which was ridiculous, and Tony was probably indulging in some wishful thinking.

_Half a day. All hands on deck?_

Tony glanced around at their group. They were going to need all the help they could get, if Thanos was on his way.

_All hands, all feet, everything. This is that war Fury warned us about, that first mission out._

Tony hoped he wasn't being too melodramatic. He was terrified, though, that they had no idea what horror was coming.

 

+++++

 

"He destroyed Xandar," Gamora said, her voice hard but tremulous with emotion. With pain and anger. "So he took the Power stone from the Nova Corps vault. He'd gone to Knowhere and taken the Reality stone already."

They'd gathered at the Avengers facility, and Tony was glad for the familiarity of it, if nothing else was familiar. Tony had even brought Peter Parker up from the city – he'd hated to do it, but with the battle coming, Tony had known there wasn't much choice.

"And how many of these stones are there?" Steve had asked. Their reunion had been awkward, and they hadn't said much. Tony didn't know how to apologize, and didn't know how to let Steve apologize, either. So they had stared at one another, neither able to think of anything to say, until Thor had broken the impasse by gathering Steve into a twirling hug.

Bruce had gotten a brief moment with Natasha, Vision and Wanda had been whispering in a corner, and Sam and Rhodey had chatted idly. Like old friends. Like nothing had happened. Clint had watched them all while Bucky had stood beside Steve like a sentry.

And Tony and Steve hadn't said a word to one another.

"There are six," Strange told him. "The Space stone, the Mind stone, the Time stone and the Soul stone are all that are left."

"So we have time," Natasha surmised.

"Not necessarily. We don't know where Thanos will go next, or how he's finding the stones."

"I sent the Space stone with Loki, to take it as far as he can," Thor said. Clint had snarled, eyes blazing.

"Might as well give it right to Thanos, then," he'd spat.

"Loki is _risking his life_ to get the Tesseract away," Thor said, raising himself to his full height.

"So he can keep it for himself? I don't know about you guys but my memory of what Loki did the last time he had the Tesseract in hand is _pretty fucking clear_ ," Clint replied.

"Loki was not in his right mind then," Thor said. "I trust him with this."

Clint snorted, and just when it seemed everything was about to devolve into name-calling and hair-pulling, Strange stood, silencing them.

"That leaves the Soul stone unaccounted for," he said, tone commanding. "All we know is that it isn't on Earth."

Gamora and Quill shared a look, but no one said anything.

"And then the Time stone," he gestured to his amulet, "and the Mind stone." He waved a hand in Vision's direction.

"Thanos is too powerful," Thor said. "If he makes it to Earth, we will need all the firepower we can muster to keep the stones safe from him."

"We need to make sure the other two stones are protected as well," said Wong.

Steve looked over at the group of aliens – the Guardians of the Galaxy, they'd called themselves, which wasn't at all pretentious as far as Tony was concerned, no siree. "You need to find the Soul stone before Thanos does," he said. "You need to find it, and you need to protect it."

"We don't take orders from _you_ ," spat Rocket, the talking raccoon, which Tony was very much doing his best not to think too hard about.

"It's not about _orders_ , it's about what's _necessary_ ," argued Steve.

And then, of course, things finally did devolve into name-calling and hair-pulling.

In the end, the Guardians agreed to go after the Soul stone. Gamora and Quill shared another look as they were agreeing to it, and Tony suspected there was something they weren't sharing. Of course, the white-faced anger mixed with terror on Quill's face had Tony thinking maybe it was best he didn't know what it was.

"What about the Time stone?" Natasha asked, jerking her chin at Strange's chest. Tony was still a little weirded out about her blonde hair. It looked good on her, because Tony didn't think Natasha _could_ look unattractive, but it was still jarring to see. It made her whole face look pale, so she looked like a ghost.

"The Time stone doesn't leave my possession," Strange announced. "I've sworn on my life to keep it safe."

Natasha raised one lightened eyebrow. "I think Thanos might be more than willing to take that trade, if you ask him nice. You might wanna try swearing on something a little more valuable to him."

Strange ignored her, turning to Vision. "We need to find a way to protect _that_." He gestured toward the little golden light at the centre of Vision's forehead.

Wanda stepped forward, half-shielding him with her body protectively. "You don't touch him."

Steve turned a grim face to Strange.

"Oh, don't misunderstand," Strange said. "I don't intend him any harm. On the contrary, I think we need to protect him, _and_ the stone in his head, at all costs."

"We can run," Wanda suggested. Vision gave her a sad look.

"No," he said. "We mustn't abandon –"

"No one's running away," argued Steve.

"Vision's got more power than any of us, he can protect himself," said Rhodey.

"That's too big a risk," Strange said.

"What if we called the Guardians back," Tony tried. "They could take him with them, get him away from here."

"That would put the Mind stone alongside the Soul stone, or at the very least lead Thanos right to wherever it's hidden," said Wong.

"Well, if we don't want two of them side by side, we gotta get you away from Vision," said Clint.

"Thor could take him offworld," Bruce suggested.

"No one's _running_ ," Steve said. "We have to face this _together_."

"No, there is something else I need," Thor said. "A weapon to aid us, because when Thanos comes, he's not coming in light."

"Well, if we're not running away, and we're not putting Vision front and centre of a fight, what the hell _are_ we doing?" Tony asked, not even bothering to try to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"Why are we letting the Wizard of Odd call the shots here, anyway?" Sam asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Steve shot him a glance, but Tony couldn't read it. He blamed the beard.

"Because I know what we're up against, and I know what could happen if we lose."

"Thanos is coming _now_ ," growled Tony. "If we're going to do something, we need to decide on it pretty quickly, or he'll decide for us."

"We're going to stand and fight, because it's what we do," said Steve, jaw muscle jumping.

"You don't get to come back here and make all the calls," Tony growled. Sure, he'd mostly managed to soothe the feelings of betrayal from the last year, but that didn't mean there wasn't still a sting there. It didn't mean Steve could just come back and act as though nothing had happened, as though he were still the leader of the Avengers. There _was_ no Avengers. Not anymore.

"I'm not trying to make the calls, I'm just saying –"

"We're not going to be able to hide Vision forever –"

"No one's _saying_ that, Tony –"

"That's _literally_ what you're saying, Steve –"

"We have to _fight_. We can't let Thanos get past us, because he won't _stop_. He'll keep coming and coming, and there's no way to be safe unless we _beat_ him."

"We aren't equipped to _fight_ Thanos," Tony shouted. "We can't win against him."

"We don't have a _choice_ ," Steve shouted right back. Tony could see, out of the corner of his eye, Rhodey and Natasha exchange a look. Sam glanced back at Barnes, and Bruce was looking back and forth between Steve and Tony as though they'd lost their minds.

Truthfully, Tony was feeling a little bit like he might side with Bruce on this one. He felt like he really had lost his mind. All the pain and frustration and anger at Steve came bubbling to the surface, and he knew he was about to say something he'd regret, something he couldn't take back.

"You self-righteous _asshole_ ," Tony said, stepping right into Steve's space and jabbing a finger into his hard chest, right in the middle of the black-painted star there. "You're the one who always told me we needed a plan, we needed to think about our next move, and you're turning into the guy who punches first and asks questions later? Fuck you, Steve. As far as the government is concerned, you're a war criminal. You don't _get a say_."

"We don't have time for this, Tony! Every second we spend fighting among ourselves is a second we lose of preparation for the real fight. And it's coming whether we're ready or not."

"Believe me, I know all too well what's coming our way. If Thanos gets here, he's gonna go right through us to get to the Mind stone," Tony hissed, right in his face.

"And if we send Vision away, Thanos is _still_ going to go right through us, and then through everything else in his path," Steve said, this time his voice is flat. Like he's tired of fighting – tired of fighting the world, the apocalypse, even tired of fighting Tony.

"Well, if we can't send him away and we can't keep him here, what's left? What, are we going to send him to an alternate reality where Thanos doesn't even exist? Boom, problem solved?"

"Yes."

Strange's voice is quiet, but it cuts through the arguing and tension in the room with ease.

Tony's brain falls off the track, and he and Steve both turn to stare at him.

"I was being sarcastic," Tony told him.

"But it's the best plan," Strange said. "It gives us more time – Thanos won't be able to find him."

"No," Wanda said, voice tense. "Not without me."

"Wanda," Vision argued. "I'll go alone."

"No, you won't," Strange said. "You have to go, but you can't go alone. You need someone there with you, just in case Thanos gets through."

"Then I'll go," said Wanda again.

"Wanda…" Vision looked pained, but Strange cut him off.

"No," Strange said. "Ms. Maximoff, we need you here. The level of your power… we can't risk trying to fight Thanos without you. We need all the firepower we can get."

"If that's the argument, we can't spare _anyone_ ," said Bruce. "Vision included."

"We need all the firepower here, right?" Tony asked, looking at Strange even as he could feel his stomach sinking, feel eyes on him all around the room. At the same time, it feels right.

"This is our first line of defense," Strange agreed.

Tony smiled, then – a sad, little hitch of his lips. "Guess it's me, then."

"What? Tony, no," Steve said with an abortive step forward. If Tony didn't know better, he'd think Steve actually wanted him around here.

"Options are limited, Rogers. We don't have time to fight about it, like you said."

"But why you?"

A shrug of one shoulder. "All the heavy hitters need to be here. As a relatively light hitter, that takes me off the front line."

Steve stared at him for a long moment. "Tony. You're _not_ a light hitter. It's too dangerous."

Tony shrugged. "Of course it is. That's what we do, though, isn't it, Rogers?"

"You've got so much here," Steve tried. He stepped closer, brought his volume down so the two of them weren't so easy to overhear. Not, Tony mused, that the other Avengers wouldn't be listening in with everything they had.

"Anything I've got won't mean shit if if there's no world left to enjoy it," Tony said, lowering his voice as well.

"But Pepper –"

"Left again. For good, this time. I think it might be because I keep making stupid decisions like this, but I'm not sure." Tony smirked. "Probably for the best. For her, I mean. Safer, less stressful."

Steve looked like he was going to say something else, but he didn't get the chance.

"One person won't be enough," Strange interrupted. "If we're going to do this – it's going to be a pocket reality. Completely separate from ours, and it can't be tied to ours in any way. We can't just send Vision to an existing reality – Thanos already has the Reality stone, he'd be able to find you too easily. Especially if he finds Loki and gets his hands on the Space stone. We have to make an entire reality from scratch, and it's not enough to just send the two of you. If Thanos gets through us, if he _does_ manage to find his way to the reality construct, there has to be a second line of defense there."

"Then I'll go, too," Steve announced, jaw set, eyes glittering with steel. Tony stared at him, his own jaw slack.

"You'll what?"

"You're not doing this alone," Steve said.

"You're not going anywhere without me," Barnes growled, stepping forward.

"Buck –"

"Well, shit, if Tony's going, I'd better go, too. If I leave him in some alternate universe without supervision, he'll do something real stupid, and then where will we be?" Rhodey chimed in.

Tony shot him a grateful look.

"I'll go, too," Clint said. "You guys are gonna need someone to keep a proper eye out for trouble."

"If he goes, I go," Natasha said, looking between Tony and Steve pointedly before shooting a slightly apologetic look back at Bruce. Bruce just gave her a sad smile and a nod.

"Well, hell if I'm gonna let you all go to the Matrix dimension without me," said Sam. "That's not gonna fly."

"That should be enough for a second team," Strange said.

"No," Wanda protested. "I'm going, too."

"You can't," Vision said, taking her hands gently in his. "Wanda, it's too important that you stay here."

"I can protect you!"

"I know you can," Vision agreed. "And you must do it from here."

Wanda glared mutinously at him, but she looked as though she was going to stop arguing – for the time being.

"You won't have your memories," Strange said, glancing at each of the volunteers in turn. "You'll still be you, mostly, but you won't know anything but that reality. You will belong there – you'll have lived lives, you'll have histories, and you won't know anything about this world. You won't know about the stones or about Thanos, or any of us."

"Then how will we know what we're supposed to be protecting?" Steve asked.

"That's part of the spell. You'll have a reason to protect Vision. You'll be willing to protect him with your lives, all of you. But knowledge of this reality is too dangerous. If you're there and you know it isn't real, it will weaken the spell. It could lead Thanos right to you – or it could break the spell altogether and bring you back here. It's not enough for you to believe you belong there, in that pocket reality. You have to _actually_ belong there."

They looked around at each other for a long moment.

"How will you make us belong there, then?" asked Sam. "How will we know Vision is the one we need to protect?"

"How much time do you need?" Steve asked, squaring his shoulders and facing Strange straight on.

Strange shrugged. "Mm, about 10 minutes? Once we have everything in order, that is, and move ourselves to a more secure location to keep you all in."

"I know someone who can help with that," Steve says.

"Wait, if we can't remember Thanos, can't remember who we are – how will we know we have to protect Vision? If we're all just – in this other reality, will we even know each other?" asked Clint.

"You'll all be connected," Strange said. "You'll have lived entire lives, and those lives will lead you to each other. As for Vision – well, there's nothing more protective than a parent's love, is there?"

Tony snorted. "Man, are _you_ talking to the wrong crowd."

Strange just gave him a small smile. "No, Mr. Stark. I don't think I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4858/46040880491_47edd5a1da_b.jpg).


	15. Chapter 15

**Late May**

Tony wakes up in a hospital bed. The room is dark, cold. There's the quiet, steady beeping of a heart monitor beside him. As his awareness grows to take in more of the room, he realizes there are more beds, more heart monitors, and the result is a cacophony of beeps at different rhythms and tones.

The bed directly beside him contains Natasha, but she's already sitting up, looking around wildly.

They're in the bunker.

When they had agreed to be moved to the pocket reality, Strange had taken them to Wakanda to do the spell. He'd said they would be best protected under T'Challa's watchful eye, with his underground facilities, adamantium bunkers, and high-tech medical facilities.

It was into one of those bunkers that Dr. Strange had taken them, worked his magic to send them to the pocket universe. He'd said he was leaving a sample of each of their auras in each of the beds down here, to work as a sort of lodestone when they did come back to reality. He'd said it would be easier on them if their bodies had a place to be drawn to.

But there's nothing easy about the horror dawning on him as he blinks himself to full consciousness.

Casey is _gone_.

Worse, Casey had never existed.

He wants to curl up in a ball, wants to scream and cry. Strange hadn't told him it would feel like this; that the people that they had been over there in that reality – Strange had called it the Haven – would bleed into who they are now. That they would bring back all the memories, all the feelings, all the loves –

Oh, god, _Steve_.

Fucking _Steve Rogers_.

Tony's stomach flips. He's lost the child he'd loved the way only a parent can truly love a child. A child he was never meant to have, and never meant to love. He's also lost a love he'd never been meant to have, either. How could he be so stupid? How could he fall for – and fall into bed with – _Steve Rogers_? Of all the asinine things he could have done…

Whatever feelings he'd been nursing in the back of his mind, whatever hopes and dreams he'd had for a relationship with Steve, he'd killed and buried after Siberia. He'd done everything in his power to move on from that little pipe dream. Steve had betrayed his trust, had run off with Barnes, had beaten Tony and killed his suit.

So he didn't want Steve anymore.

Except, apparently, that he did. Even now, even knowing that the Haven wasn't _real_ , that they're back home, he feels an ache in his chest, like the glass shards of a broken heart pressing angrily into his sternum. Whatever had happened in Haven was nothing. _Meant_ nothing.

But Tony feels the tangible loss of it, anyway.

The loss of Steve. The loss of Casey.

"Why are we back?" Clint croaks from across the room, looking dazed. He glances at Tony, but then his eyes track across the room to Bucky, who's staring right back at him.

Right. Them, too.

"Justine Hammer," Natasha says.

Oh, man. Tony feels like a real idiot, now. Of course, Justine Hammer. Daughter of Justin Hammer. He hadn't known her back in Haven, but now he recognizes the name.

But how had she found them? How had she known about Casey?

And how had she brought them back?

"Barnes and I were questioning her," Natasha says, watching as Clint stands up from his bed and moves over to Bucky's side, helping him to his feet as well. There's no hesitation, no awkwardness between them.

The rest of them are sitting up now, too. Rhodey next to Tony, and Sam across the room beside Steve. Tony still can't bring himself to look at Steve's bed, or even in that general direction. He can't risk that eye contact.

Sitting against the wall on a chair, is Dr. Strange. He stands and greets them briefly.

"Welcome back," he says, nodding to each of them in turn. "We've been expecting you."

Strange holds out one hand, spinning the other in a wide circle in front of himself.

"Oh, hey, wooshy hand thing," Clint says, still holding onto Bucky's arm.

Strange's hands create a portal, gold sparks circling it, and he gestures for them to precede him through it. Clint is the first one through, dragging Bucky along with him. Rhodey goes next, followed by Natasha and Sam. Steve glances furtively at Tony, then shrugs and jumps through as well, leaving Tony there alone with Strange.

"So I'm just gonna go through there and end up somewhere else?"

"You just spent the equivalent of eight months in a dimension I created from scratch, Stark. You're not honestly going to get your socks in a knot about a little portal."

"I hate magic," Tony sighs, but he goes through the portal anyway.

It takes them to T'Challa's palace, to a large room scattered with people – including Bruce, the king himself, and Shuri.

"Justine Hammer told us what Haven was when we were interrogating her. Well, as much as she knew," Natasha tells them. "Guess it was enough to bring us back. How did she even find us?"

"Someone must have felt what we'd done," Strange says. "Someone with power."

Great. They'd spent so much time and energy focused on defending themselves against Thanos, they hadn't stopped to consider the potential for attracting attention from another direction. Stupid.

"How long have we been under?" Bucky asks, glancing around the room. His eyes keep tracking in Steve's direction, but Tony refuses to take the bait.

"It's almost Christmas," Steve says, voice rough and broken. Small. The voice of someone who has known loss over and over again. "It's December."

The sound of it breaks Tony's heart all over again. He wonders how much pain he's expected to sit through before Thanos comes and puts him out of his misery, already.

He doesn't mean that. He's just hurting right now. He'll push it down and get on with it, the way he always does.

"It's still May," Bruce says, and Tony blinks at him. Bruce gives him an apologetic glance even as he hands out bottles of water for each of them. "You've been gone a couple of weeks."

"I did tell you time would move differently there," Strange says, not looking at all apologetic.

"Thanos has the Space stone – the tesseract," Bruce tells them.

"He got to Loki?" Steve's voice is still raw, still lost, but it's firmer, now. Tony knows that if anyone is able to get back to business when the worst has happened, it's Steve.

"Loki's dead. Thor didn't take it well," Bruce confirms.

"Where's Vision?" Rhodey asks. It's the first Tony realizes that Vision isn't there with them. He instantly feels guilty about it – technically, Vision had been Casey in the Haven. He's been so rocked by the loss of the little boy that the one piece of him left hadn't even crossed Tony's mind.

He's not sure if Vision even _has_ an aura. There's no empty bed where he would have materialized had he come back with them the way they'd all gone in. Tony doesn't know how it works because it's _magic_ , and therefore follows no rules whatsoever.

He looks over at Strange, and is impressed to find Strange's expression twisted up into something uncomfortable.

"Where is he?" Tony repeats Rhodey's question.

Strange sighs, and looks a little defeated. "I don't know."

Those three words are a punch to the gut that knocks the wind right out of him. It's like losing Casey all over again. He has visceral memories of realising that Casey had been taken, of feeling like his whole world had come crashing down around him. Vision isn't Casey, he knows that. But it feels the same anyway.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Tony says, words raw, and brittle. "You're the one that set this whole charade up, how do you not know where Vision is? Why didn't he come back here with the rest of us?"

Rhodey is at his side, arms folded over his chest. Strange's expression shifts in a way that Tony recognises as someone trying to work through a problem with a lot of unknown variables.

"Vision isn't human," Strange begins, pacing back and forth across the space. "He isn't human, and the entire reality was built around him. He was the centre."

"Right," Tony agrees, "But now we're back in real life, so why isn't he?"

"He is back," Strange says with utmost certainty. "That constructed pocket reality no longer exists. He would have been pulled back just as the rest of you were. Only… because he wasn't human, he doesn't have the same aura. And because he was the centre around which the reality was constructed, he didn't have the same anchor."

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, and tries not to snap. "So, you mean to say, that he could literally be anywhere in the world?"

"Yes," Strange informs him. "Which at least gives us a place to start. But we need to move fast. There is a good chance he's injured."

It's only Rhodey subtly placing his hand on the back of Tony's elbow that keeps him from punching Strange in the face.

"Explain," Tony demands.

"Look, the reality was built around Vision, right? He was the literal centre of the universe." By this point, everyone in the room is staring at Strange, waiting. "If we had been able to deconstruct the reality properly, and bring you back as intended, it would have been okay. But because the reality was so sharply shattered, there is a very good chance that some kind of magical kickback would have impacted Vision."

"You have to be fucking kidding me right now," Tony growls. "So Vision is out there, somewhere – you have no idea where – and god only knows what state he's in? That's just fucking peachy, Strange. Thank you for that."

"Hey, I'm not –" Strange doesn't have a chance to finish – which is probably for the best because Tony is not having any of it right now – as Steve's communicator goes off; a sharp, startling alarm that makes Tony's heart leap into his throat.

"Steve Rogers," he says, taking the call. Tony watches from across the room, studying the curve of Steve's jaw, the way the corner of his mouth turns down into a frown. He knows that mouth, he knows what it felt like to have Steve's lips pressed against his, Steve's arms holding him. The memories make his chest ache, and make him want to get as far away as possible, as if running would get him away from everything he's feeling. But that's not an option.

Steve's face pales, and whatever's going on, it isn't good. "I'll send you our coordinates," he says, and ends the call. All eyes turn to Steve and they wait, breaths held.

"That was Quill," Steve tells them. "Thanos has the soul stone – apparently he got it from someone called the 'In-Betweener' at the Nexus of Reality. It didn't… make a lot of sense."

"Well, it's Quill," Bruce says with a little shrug.

"He's coming to Earth," Steve continues. "The Guardians are on their way, but we need to find Vision before Thanos does."

Tony's stomach twists itself up into knots of fear and anxiety, and he feels like he wants to throw up. But his brain is already kicking into high gear, throwing solutions to the problem.

"Bruce, you remember how you found the tesseract when Loki took it?"

"Yes?" Bruce says, blinking at him, and then eyes widening with the same high speed thought Tony was working on. "The energy signature won't be exactly the same, but we should be able to make it work. I mean, we still have all that data from the scepter tests."

Now at least someone is speaking a language he can understand, and giving him something to do. "Shuri, we need to borrow your lab, and also your brain," Tony tells her.

She grins over at him in bright eyed excitement. "I thought you'd never ask. This way."

"I will ready our defences in case Thanos makes his strike here," T'Challa says. "Captain?"

Steve nods and turns to follow T'Challa out of the room, but before he does, he looks back at Tony. Their eyes meet, and Steve's are full of pain, confusion, sadness, and a thousand other emotions Tony wishes that he didn't see. The other Tony could just kiss it all away. This Tony can't.

Tony turns away and follows Shuri. He doesn't look back.

 

+++++

 

Fortunately, Shuri's lab is more than well equipped to handle the task they have ahead of them. Even with their backs up against the wall and no time to spare, Tony still can't help staring at the space in wonder, itching to get his hands on things and throw about a thousand questions Shuri's way. She laughs, and punches his shoulder lightly as she passes by him on her way over to her work station. "I never get tired of those awestruck looks. They give me life. You should have seen Bruce's face the first time he came in here."

Tony glances over at Bruce who nods in confirmation. "It's more amazing than you know, Tony. The work she's doing here? It's more advanced than anything you or I have imagined."

"I can see that," Tony says, trying to soak up as much information as he can.

"Hold your questions, and once this is all over, we'll have a party."

"Assuming we win," Tony adds, the reality of what they're up against shattering the momentary joy he'd felt at seeing the wonder that is Shuri's workspace.

"We will," Shuri says with unwavering assurance. She has a lot more faith than he does. Thanos already has four of the six stones, he's gunning for them with more power than any of them can even fathom, and they have absolutely no idea where Vision is. He doesn't bother to point out the long odds they're up against. She's smart, she already knows. But somehow, she's keeping her chin up. Truthfully, Tony admires it. And he wishes he felt the same, but right now, he's just so goddamn tired.

Before they can get any further into it, Tony is hit by a sack of super-powered teenager, wrapping impossibly strong arms around him in a hug that Tony absolutely refuses to enjoy.

"Mr. Stark! You're back!"

"Good to see you, too, Parker, but you're in space," Tony says. Peter immediately backs off, looking chagrined, and Tony wishes he'd let the boy hug him a little longer.

"It's good! That you're back. We've got a lot going on, but, you know."

"Peter has been following me around like a lost puppy," Shuri says with a doting smile. "He's smart, though, so I allow it."

"I'm not _following_ you around," Peter argues, cheeks pinking. "I'm _interning_."

Bruce huffs out a laugh. "It really is good to see you, Tony," he says.

Tony squirms uncomfortably. "Don't we have work to do?" he says, trying to get them back on track. It works, and Shuri leads him to a workstation.

It takes almost no time for him to remotely connect to his servers, and share all the data they had collected from back when they were searching for the tesseract, and from when they had been working on the Ultron project before it went sideways. From there, it takes Shuri very little time herself to do her thing and set up the scan to search for Vision's unique energy signature. Unfortunately, once it's started, there isn't a hell of a lot for any of them to do except sit around and wait for something to ping.

It gives Tony far too much time to think.

Shuri is off on the other side of the lab working on what looks like some advanced weaponry, no doubt her version of equipment checks before all hell breaks loose. Somewhere else in the palace compound, Steve is probably doing the same thing – setting up a perimeter, working on a battle plan, doing all that stupid Steve stuff where he jumps into action and shows just how stupidly great he is. Like he'd jumped into action without hesitation when Casey was taken.

"Tony, Rhodey's here," Bruce says, pulling him out of his thoughts. He squeezes Tony's shoulder gently, and excuses himself to go and help Shuri to give Tony some space. Sure enough, Rhodey walks into the lab looking every bit as wrecked as Tony feels. It's all Tony can do to keep from flinging himself at Rhodey, and clinging with everything he's got. But Rhodey is still at his side a moment later, arms wrapped around him in a tight hug.

"Tones, god, I'm so sorry," Rhodey mutters as Tony sinks against him. Tony turns his face to hide it against Rhodey's chest as he feels hot tears prickle at his eyes.

"It felt so real," he whispers, voice hoarse. "All of it. Casey, our life, Steve. Oh god, Steve." He shudders as the warring memories of falling asleep in his apartment curled up with Steve, and waking up in the hospital bed in Wakanda. "Rhodey, we were..."

"Yeah," Rhodey agrees. "You love each other."

Tony lets out a hollow laugh. "It wasn't real. Whatever was between us wasn't real. It was all part of playing pretend. Our fake perfect life, our fake kid, our fake happiness."

"Felt pretty real to me," Rhodey tells him. "The months of pining after each other. Steve being mopey because he thought you and I were together."

Tony makes a noise at that, and sits up, but stays close, pressed into his best friend's side. "Ugh. I can't believe he thought that. So weird."

"He was pretty jealous of me," Rhodey laughs.

"Yeah," Tony agrees. "Not like it matters. This is reality, and everything is different here."

"So, you're saying you don't love him."

"I said it's different here," Tony says, sharp and brittle. "It's different, it's complicated, and I don't even know how he feels."

"That's true. But Bucky and Clint..."

"What about Bucky and Clint?" Tony asks.

Rhodey shrugs a shoulder. "Can't say for sure, I think they have a few things to talk over when the dust settles. But it looks like they'll still be together. Like they still are."

"Well bully for them," Tony says.

"Tony, you know as well as I do, the reality was different, different history, different experiences that influenced us, but it was still us. It was still real. Everything we felt was real. You know that," Rhodey says gently.

"So, what exactly are you saying?"

"I am saying, Tony, that you and Steve have a lot of talk about. You can't just pretend this never happened."

"Watch me," Tony huffs.

Before Rhodey can chastise him, or convince him that he really should talk to Steve (he should, but god, he doesn't want to), the terminal that is running the search algorithm starts wildly beeping. Across the lab, Shuri lets out a whoop and races over to it.

"Good news, boys, I think we've found him," she says, pulling up a holo display of a map. "And we're lucky, he's not far. And even better than that, it looks like he's smack in the middle of the Sahara, so the chances of anyone else having found him are low. And –" a couple of keystrokes "– I've patched the coordinates through to Strange to get him. He'll be back here in minutes."

Tony breathes a sigh of relief, but he's still anxious as all hell. "Back here, but no idea what state, or how hurt."

"No," Shuri agrees, "But he will be in the best possible care, Tony. He'll be okay. We'll do whatever we need to do to take care of him."

He'd better be. Tony's not sure he'll be able to handle losing Casey again, which is how it would feel if they lose Vision.

 

+++++

 

Tony wants to go with Strange to get Vision, but with his stupid portals, Strange has gone and returned before Tony even reaches him. Vision is in rough shape, leaning heavily on Strange as he waves his hand and snaps the portal shut. Vision's breath is ragged, he seems disoriented, and the smallest sound makes him wince in pain. But he manages to look up as Tony appears, and their eyes meet, all the memories another life passing between them. "Vision," Tony croaks out, and rushes to Vision's side to offer him some support. "We need to get him to the lab."

Whatever is wrong with Vision, Shuri's lab is going to be far more helpful than the medical ward. Vision leans heavily against him as they walk, but insists on getting there under his own power. Stubborn. Not surprising, looking at the factors that had helped create him.

Just outside the lab, Vision cries out in pain and grabs at his head, his eyes squeezing shut, knees shaking. "Hey, you're okay," Tony says softly. "Stay with me buddy, okay? We're gonna sort this out." Tony looks up at Strange, who'd followed them down, but Strange's brows are furrowed, and a look of deep concern is set on his face. It does little to make Tony actually believe what he's saying, but dammit, Vision will be okay. He can't not be.

They manage the last few steps, and Shuri is there ready for them. They help Vision up onto some kind of exam table and Shuri sets about setting up a bunch of equipment more advanced than anything Tony has seen. She sets to work, throwing up some of the scans that they'd previously taken of Vision and pulled from Tony's servers, and displays it up on one of the screens beside the bed.

Tony turns to look at the man who'd brought Vision back here. "Strange, what's happening to him?" Tony demands, his fingers twitching at his side for a lack of something to do to help.

"Honestly, I don't know," Strange admits.

"Well, that's not good enough. You better start knowing damned quick," Tony snaps.

Strange sighs, and looks at him pointedly. "I told you, Vision was the center of the pocket reality. It was built around him, he was the lynchpin. I have no way of knowing how pulling him out of it so quickly, and so violently, will have impacted him, or what damages it might have inflicted on his mind."

"He's unconscious," Shuri informs them. "And before you freak out, that's a good thing. Look." She points to the second screen which is showing a scan of Vision's brain, and his neural activity in real time.

"It's rebooting," Tony says in surprise, watching the screen.

Shuri nods. "That's what it looks like, it's as if snapping back into this reality caused a glitch, so he needs to reset."

"He's adaptive," Tony says absently. "JARVIS, he was designed to be an adaptive learning program."

"Fully sentient AI," Shuri remarks. "I haven't figured that one out yet. Not completely."

Tony smiles and waves to all the marvels of technology around them. "You've figured plenty out that I haven't even dreamed of. When this is over, trade notes?"

Shuri grins. "I'm going to make the most annoying AI, put it in a tiny robot, and make it follow T'Challa around the palace all day long."

"You make me glad that I never had siblings," he looks back at Vision, the mind stone pulsing gently in his forehead. "He'd better be okay."

"I can't promise that. I'm sorry," Strange tells him, and he actually does sound sorry. "I won't be much help until he wakes up again. I'll leave you until then."

Tony doesn't look back as Strange quietly steps out of the room. There is a battle on the horizon, and Tony really should be doing something to help prepare for it, but he can't. When Vision wakes up, Tony wants there to be someone he recognises at his side. Vision isn't Casey, he knows that, and Vision isn't JARVIS either – not really. But he's elements of them both, as well as being something uniquely himself. Tony can give himself a few minutes down here to watch over Vision, his friend. He can watch, and wait, and quietly grieve for the little boy he never was.

 

+++++

 

"His brain waves are shifting, he should be waking soon," Shuri's voice cuts through whatever thought Tony is deep into some time later. He sits up quickly, and turns towards the screen in anticipation. Shuri makes her way over and taps at the the display, humming thoughtfully to herself. "Much quicker than I would have thought. Then again, I guess he's not human."

"Not really, no," Tony agrees.

"His body is partly made of vibranium," Shuri says, broaching the subject they'd never touched on.

"Yeah," Tony says quietly. "From some of the stuff that Ultron got from that asshole who stole it from here. I'm sorry," he adds.

"It isn't your fault," Shuri tells him. "But thank you. Vibranium is only part of it, what is the rest?"

"Artificial tissue, from the regenerative cradle created by Dr. Helen Cho."

"I've read a lot about her work, she is brilliant," Shuri says.

"She is brilliant," Tony agrees. "So, the vibranium bonded to it and created a body. The consciousness is a fusion of JARVIS, and the uncorrupted version of what Ultron should have been. All held together and made possible by the mind stone. Which, full confession, I realise now that Bruce an I had absolutely no idea what we were dealing with. We were so far out of our league, and we had no idea. That's ego for you."

Before Shuri can respond, Vision groans softly, and slowly opens his eyes. He blinks a few times, and sits up, looking around the lab in confusion. "What..."

"Hey, take it easy there, buddy, you've been put through the ringer," Tony says, resting a hand on Vision's shoulder.

"Is everyone alright?" Vision asks, looking imploringly at Tony.

"Yeah, everyone's fine. It was you we were worried about."

"What happened? I remember falling asleep – as a child – and when I opened my eyes again, I was alone in the desert. Mr. Stark, what happened to the Haven?"

"It was infiltrated. By someone who was pissed that I'm the reason her dad's in jail, and who stupidly thought that getting the mind stone would let her save the world, and saving the world would be enough to get her darling dearest father pardoned. God, I can't even believe Hammer had a kid. Can't believe he actually managed to convince someone to sleep with him, I mean –"

"Tony," Shuri chastises him gently, "maybe save it for another time?"

"Right," Tony agrees. "Anyway, apparently telling us about the illusion was enough to shatter it. So, here we are."

"And Thanos?" Vision asks warily.

"On his way. Mind stone is all he needs now, and he'll get it out of you over my dead body."

"It had better not come to that," Vision says, and slowly pushes himself to his feet.

Tony quickly reaches out a hand to stop him. "Whoa, wait, where the hell do you think you're going?"

"If Thanos is coming, we must be prepared."

"We will be, but you are staying right here," Tony demands. "You're what he's after, and we still have no idea what kind of effect snapping back to reality might have had on you. You're safer here. Stay put."

"I can not stand idly by, no more than could you. Others will fight, and risk their lives for this world. For this universe. I will do no less than the same."

"You sound like Steve, you know that?" Tony says roughly.

Vision smiles softly, and wraps Tony in a gentle hug. "Perhaps you have both been a positive influence on me." He pulls back after a moment, and adds, "For whatever it is worth to you, you were a good father."

Tony isn't sure what the hell he can say to that, so he decides it's probably easier for everyone if he says nothing at all.

 

+++++

 

The three of them make it back to the main area of the Palace to find the whole place in total battle prep mode. The civilians have all been evacuated into bunkers, and additional shields have gone up around the city. Okoye and the Dora Milaje are heading up the united band of fierce warriors that have come together to defend their home and fight for their people, establishing a perimeter, and running through various tactical plans. Steve is with them, listening intently, so Tony allows himself a moment to stare, eyes lingering on the man he knows so well, and not at all.

"Tony," Rhodey calls, appearing from down the corridor.

"Rhodey, where are we at?" Tony asks.

"Guardians just arrived. The landing party is on their radar, we've only got a few minutes."

Tony swallows hard. This is it, then. The moment he's lost countless hours worrying about. Preparing for. Everything they'd done since the day they'd hit the streets of New York together have been building to this. Earth's mightiest heroes. Her last defenders. He hopes like hell they're enough, because they're all there is.

Steve turns at the sound of his voice, and they look at each other – _really_ look at each other – for the first time since they'd lain in bed together in another reality.

"Tony..." Steve says, stepping forward so they're closer. There's so much behind that one word. So much pain, and longing. Maybe Rhodey's right. Maybe they do need to talk while they still have a chance.

"Steve, I –"

He doesn't get a chance to finish his thought. Frantic footsteps pound through the hall, and someone – Gamora, he realises – flies into their line of sight, wide eyed and fearful. "They're here."

 

+++++

 

"This is one hell of an entourage," Tony says as he flies over the battlefield. Thanos himself hasn't arrived – Tony isn't quite sure if he's more, or less relieved over that – but the initial invasion party is… not insignificant. There are a handful of formidable beings; tall, strong, well armed, ordering a literal army of vicious, wild creatures who are throwing themselves at the force field over and over again until one or two manage to make it past just by sheer stubbornness, overwhelming the energy field. They're savage things, fast moving, all teeth and claws hell bent on tearing the Wakandan forces to shreds, and they have the advantage of sheer numbers. But the Wakandan warriors are the best that Tony has ever had the honour to fight beside, which is good. Otherwise they wouldn't stand a chance.

As it is, things are already dicey. The Dora Milaje are picking off the few creatures that do manage to force their way inside the field, but the creatures, or their Masters, are very quickly figuring out how to use those numbers to their advantage. They swarm around more of the perimeter of the dome, and it's only a matter of time before the whole thing comes crashing down. Shuri must realise it at the same time, because he hears her voice over the comms, telling T'Challa that the'll need to come up with a plan.

T'Challa orders a section opened to funnel the swarm coming in. A second later, all hell breaks loose on the inside of the dome, and instinct takes over. It's been months since he's fought with the Avengers, but Tony's body remembers. He knows without looking exactly where in the sky Sam will be. He knows with one call of his name where Steve needs him to be to lay down cover fire. He knows without having to think about it that Steve has his back. It's exhilarating and heartbreaking all at once.

But the real star is Okoye. She is a sharp and fearless General, and her troops respond without hesitation. For a few moments, Tony dares to think that maybe, just maybe they might stand a chance.

But that optimism is short lived. They've taken down wave after wave of the creatures, but it hardly looks like they've made a dent. More and more keep swarming in, forcing them to respond at a punishing pace that they aren't going to be able to keep up with for long. The Masters, or whatever those things in charge are, stride across the field as if they're taking a Sunday afternoon stroll in the park, all of them heading straight to where Vision is fighting alongside Wanda. It's as if they're drawn to the stone, which they probably are, considering the ease with which they pinpointed the stone's location in the first place. But Tony isn't going to let them have it.

He's surrounded by warriors who are prepared to lay down their lives; for their people, yes, but also for a world that barely knows they exist. And the Avengers – everything they've done, every battle they've fought, every punch they've thrown, every drop of blood, sweat, and tears since the day they first met has all been leading up to this moment. When Tony had landed in Stuttgart, when he'd laid eyes on Steve for the first time, when they stood side by side and faced Loki, he had no idea then that it was just the beginning. He couldn't have possibly imagined all the joy, and the heartache, and the pain that would follow. If he had, would he have walked away? Probably not. Even with the benefit of hindsight, he'd probably do the same thing, throw himself into the fight over and over again until he was a rundown, exhausted, messy shell. Thinking about it, he wonders how he managed to get through this far at all.

Across the field, he sees Steve, fighting with all that rage and fury that constantly burns inside him. If Steve had known then, in Stuttgart, what he was walking into, would _he_ have walked away? Tony pauses, watches for a second as Steve charges, and swings, every strike seeming to fuel him even more. Of course Steve wouldn't walk away. He doesn't back down from a fight. He never has. Even when he loses everything, he still fights. Maybe that's why he still fights from his very core, because it's all that he has. Maybe that's the problem – for both of them. They don't know how to do anything else. It's been fight after fight, against enemies, against each other, until they've stripped down everything they have to nothing. They're both wounded animals, have been ever since day one. In pain, lashing out at a perceived threat in the name of protecting themselves from more pain, from rejection, from loss. He thinks about Steve's warm smile on a cool autumn day, bright and carefree in a way Tony's never seen it here in the real world. He thinks about Steve's laugh as they drive the open road. He thinks about Steve's warm body moving against his, and the feeling of _safe_. The time that he'd spent with Steve in the pocket world, in Haven, was the first time he'd truly felt safe in longer than he'd care to remember.

He's just so damned sick of fighting. He thinks Steve might be, too.

 _Hell of a time to figure all this out, Tony_ , he thinks to himself.

If they get through this – _when_ they get through this – he'll do something about it. Besides, it's not like he could lose more than he already has.

"Guys? We've got incoming. Again!" Rhodey calls over the comms. Sure enough, there is a pod hurtling towards the earth, and there is no doubt in Tony's mind who's inside. Their destruction. Their end.

A cold sweat breaks out across his forehead, even as he fires a missile at the pod. Of course, it does nothing, bouncing right off the pod's shields, but it was worth a shot.

"Where is Thor and his destructo hammer when you need it?"

"Hammer?" Quill responds, "He didn't have one. Some kind of family drama, I dunno, honestly I wasn't paying attention to half of what he said. But he stole Rocket and Groot and ran off. Something about an axe? That guy."

Great. So, Thor's off who only knows where, and Thanos is very much here, and now, wielding four out of the six gems and making a beeline for the last two. Tony quickly flies over to Vision and lands beside him and Wanda.

"Get him inside, to the bunker," Tony orders. Vision opens his mouth to object, but Tony cuts him off. "Save it. I know you want to fight, but we need as much time as possible to figure out how to beat this guy. We can't do that if he rips the stone out of your forehead and obliterates us all. Go to the bunker, and Wanda, you stay with him."

"But– " she starts.

"No buts," Tony insists. "Please. Go. Both of you. Strange is already there. If we don't keep Vision safe then all of this, every last bit of it, will have been for nothing." Wanda nods and takes Vision's hand. Together, they fly back towards the palace. Tony swallows hard and turns his attention back to the battle. In the few short minutes since Thanos stepped onto the field, the tables have turned, and definitely not in their favour. Tony momentarily forgets to breathe at the sight of the Mad Titan striding his way across the battleground. A wave of warriors charges him, but a flick of his wrist sends them flying back as though they all weighed less than a pile of leaves.

"We need to get the gauntlet off him," Tony yells. "It's our only chance."

Steve quickly barks something to Okoye, who nods, and they split apart. She rounds up a group of her warriors, and Steve calls orders to each of them, coordinating their assault to hit from all sides for maximum distraction to allow Okoye and her people to catch him unawares. Tony's not convinced it's going to work, but it's the best plan they have. Tony circles just out of reach with Rhodey and Sam, firing off shots in rapid succession. Steve leads the ground team, charging Thanos head on with Clint, Natasha, and Bucky along with him. Tony's heart leaps into his throat as he watches Thanos take a physical swing at Steve, but to his complete and utter amazement, Steve blocks the hit, catching Thanos' fist in both of his hands, holding him physically back, straining with his feet planted firmly on the ground. It's – now really isn't the time for it, but Tony can't stop himself from noticing how unbelievably strong, fierce, and attractive Steve looks.

It's a short lived victory, because with both Steve's hands occupied, Thanos swings a hook with his free hand that catches Steve across the ribs and sends him flying, crashing hard into the ground with a grunt as all the wind gets knocked out of him. "Steve!" he yells, unable to stop himself. But from the corner of his eye, he sees Steve push himself up. That's enough, for now.

The Dora Milaje swarm Thanos from behind, grabbing his arms and trying to pin them back so they can pry the gauntlet from his fist. For a moment, Tony thinks that they might actually have him, but he breaks their hold with a grunt a beat later.

"You are tenacious," he says thoughtfully. "I admire that."

They need a better plan. They need some way to weaken him, to slow him down. But with the gauntlet he's stronger than anything that they've prepared for, and they're still fighting off the swarm, too.

This can't be the end. But it's looking pretty dire.

Until a burst of rainbow light momentarily blinds them all.

Tony shields his eyes as best he can, and when he manages to see again, he finds Thor standing in front of him, all decked out for battle and literally crackling with raw energy. He's down a hammer, but is instead carrying a massive battle axe; at his side, looking somehow no less fierce, are Rocket and Groot.

"Is that Thor?" comes Bruce over the comms from inside the Hulkbuster suit. The Hulk is nowhere to be seen today, and as much as Tony likes his friend, he's very ready for the other guy to make an appearance. "Nice of you to show up, finally," Bruce continues.

"Thor, son of Odin," Thanos says, eyeing him up. "come once again to save the Earth." He shakes his head. "Stand aside, Asgardian. I am humanity's last hope. I am the _universe's_ last hope."

"It is you who will stand down, Titan," Thor challenges.

Thanos sneers. "So be it, then," and raises his fist. Thor is quicker, the axe is already swinging in his hand. He catches Thanos' strike with the axe, and for a moment they're locked in a stalemate. Then, the fight really begins.

Tony has seen Thor fight before, countless times – but never like this. Tony's not sure what happened to Thor in the time since they've last seen each other, but whatever it is, Thor's come out of it fighting with unfathomable intensity and power. He's the only one of them that really really stands a chance against Thanos one on one.

Sensing that their warlord is in trouble, the swarm turns their attention away from the crusade towards the palace to find the stone, and towards the more immediate threat. Steve, on his feet again, calls the order to stand against the onslaught. Thor has enough on his plate clashing with Thanos. Thor doesn't have to kill him, just wound or distract him enough that they can get the gauntlet away. Tony turns his attention to the swarm, and starts firing. He can buy Thor some time.

But not as much time as he'd hope. The swarm is relentless, and they've all already been fighting at maximum capacity for a while. There's only so far they can push themselves before the stamina gives out, and they're getting dangerously close to that point.

Behind them, Tony hears Thor cry out, and he thinks that's the end of it, Thanos got in a lucky strike and Thor is down, and they're doomed. But a second later, lightning flashes and he hears another, more desperate cry – this time from Thanos. Tony whirls around, in time to see Thor bleeding profusely on shaky feet, and Thanos kneeling on the ground, a scorched axe wound gouging his head.

This is it, this is the moment, the split second. They have to act now, or they're done. Tony looks wildly around, but everyone else is fighting desperately against the swarm. Without thinking, Tony charges towards the crippled Thanos, and grabs at the gauntlet. Thanos yells in rage, and tries to fight him.

"Stark," Thanos spits, and for the first time, Tony looks into the true face of the nightmare that's haunted him since the wormhole, since the Chitauri. He swallows his fear, and in one quick movement, fires a repulsor blast at the already gaping wound and pulls with everything he has until the gauntlet comes free. Tony's hands are shaking as he holds it, brain racing to catch up with what's just happened.

"Human," Thanos hisses.

"Tony!" Thor yells.

But Tony knows what has to be done. Thanos has to be stopped. He can be the one to lay down on the wire. Take that, Steve.

The suit retracts, and Tony slides his hand inside the gauntlet. He immediately feels all the power of the four stones at his fingertips, and it's almost more than he can handle – would be more than he can handle if the gauntlet weren't focusing that power and containing it. He raises his hand at Thanos as though he were about to fire a repulsor blast. He won't be able to control the power once he releases it, he's just going to be a conduit and nothing more. It's more than he'll be able to take, but the realisation leaves him remarkably calm. He'll die out here, defending the world, defending the universe. He'll die, but it will mean something. It won't be dying in a cold cave because he couldn't fight back. It won't be dying of palladium poisoning because he couldn't find a solution to the problem. It won't be living through this mess while someone else dies for him. No, he's okay with going out like this.

He thinks Yinsen would be okay with him dying this way, too, and he hopes that Yinsen would be proud of what he's done with his life. He didn't waste it. He's fucked a lot of things up, but maybe this will finally balance the scales.

In the last fraction of a second, he lets himself mourn for what he never had with Steve. Maybe it could have been different, but now he'll never know for sure.

He blocks out the voices yelling behind him, closes his eyes, and unleashes the full power of the gauntlet on the Mad Titan.

It burns through him. It's pain, terror, a roaring chasm of nothingness. It's everything all at once.

It hurts, and then it stops. And as everything goes dark, as he drops to the ground one last time, he hears a voice calling his name, laced with horror and grief.

"Tony!"

It's Steve.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Late May**

When Steve watches Tony go down, he's watching his whole world shatter all over again.

He wonders, how much terrible loss can a man be expected to weather before that man can't get up again?

First, his mother, then Bucky. Then himself and the idyllic life he'd wanted with Peggy. Then it was Bucky again, Peggy had died, and then he'd lost Tony.

But he'd found Tony again, in the Haven. He'd found Tony, and found everything he never thought they could have together – love, and a child, and joy.

And then it had been ripped away, and he'd been shoved right back in the pit of despair and horror, right back into the middle of a fight.

Ultron had told him, once, that he couldn't live without a war. He's starting to think, now, that Ultron was right – not because Steve needed the war, but because the war needs him.

It always needs him.

And now, just when he's found Tony, realized what he and Tony could be to each other…

Tony takes the glove off Thanos' hand. Steve isn't far; he's dealing with a swarm of the alien beasts nearby when Thor comes across the bifrost, battles with Thanos. When Thor gets a hit in on Thanos' head, he goes nearly limp, limbs heavy with the injury. It won't be for long. Even from here, Steve can see that Thanos is gathering his strength, working to close his fist so he can use the power of the Infinity Stones, but then Tony is there. Tony _hadn't_ been nearby, but since when has Tony let a little thing like distance get in his way in a fight.

Tony's there, and he's wrestling with Thanos' hand, tugging and pulling the glove until it finally slips free.

Steve wants to let out a cheer – finally. _Finally_ , they'd gained ground. The glove out of Thanos' possession means they have the power to _win_ this thing. To defeat him, to defeat the advancing horde. It won't be easy, but at least without the glove in the way, it'll be closer to a fair fight.

And then Steve watches in absolute horror as Tony retracts his armour's gauntlet, frees his hand and slips it into the glove.

He knows what will happen. He's sure _Tony_ knows what will happen. But Tony does it anyway.

The power of the Infinity Stones is absolute. Strange and Thor had explained it to them. Very few beings in the universe have the strength to wield an infinity stone, let alone four of them. The Guardians had used the Power stone, once, but it had taken four of them, and they had still nearly been consumed by it.

Once, Steve had told Tony he wasn't the type to make the sacrifice play, that he was the type to stand back and wait for the glory of the win. He'd never been so wrong about another person.

He'd known it then, when Tony had flown that nuclear missile through a wormhole to the edge of space. Tony hadn't expected to come back, but he'd gone anyway. And Steve had watched him make sacrifice after sacrifice over the years, and he'd never managed to tell Tony that he _knew_. That Steve knew he'd been wrong, that Tony _was_ the kind of man who would stand up until he fell down, who would give his life for someone else when he needed to. The kind who would give up everything in order to save everyone else.

Steve had never had the time to apologize. No, that's not true. He'd never _made_ the time.

Tony balls his gloved hand into a fist, and the sky swirls with darkness. There's a scream, a howl of pain and rage as Tony points that fist at Thanos, and a beam of light shoots out of his hand. It's like the repulsor beam and yet nothing like it at the same time. The howl of pain is Tony, screaming at the unbearable energy flowing through him, through his fist, aimed right at the Titan.

One moment Thanos is there, and in the next, he's ash on the breeze.

Steve is already running, has been since Tony put the glove on. But he's not fast enough, and he can't get there before Tony uses the stones. The beam of light from his glove splits – into two, into four, into a thousand beams of light, flowing out from him and into all the beasts in the horde, into Thanos' generals, into every enemy on the battlefield.

And then they're all ash on the breeze, and Tony crumples to the ground in a lifeless heap as Steve desperately calls his name.

 

+++++

]

When he reaches Tony's side, he's started seizing, his whole body convulsing. Thor is there, too, and he tears the glove off of Tony's hand. The convulsing stops, and Tony is eerily still. He's in the armour, so Steve can't see his face or check his vitals, but he won't let that stop him.

"Friday!" he yells, looking for the emergency releases Tony builds into his suits. He can't find any – either Tony's moved them, or the new nanosuit doesn't have them. "Friday, get him out of the armour!"

She immediately complies, and the suit deconstructs itself, flowing off Tony's limbs and head, then off his torso and disappears into the new arc reactor – no, he'd called it a nano housing this time, it's not the same thing – in his chest.

Tony is immobile, and his face is ghostly white, and his breathing is shallow – but he's _breathing_.

"Tony! Oh, god, Tony, wake up!" He knows he sounds desperate, irrational, but he can't help it. He's already lost Tony once today, he can't survive doing it again.

A ring of sparking light opens beside them like the shutter on a camera, and then Dr. Strange is stepping through, looking bruised, bloodied and worn. He drops to his knees beside Tony's prone body, one trembling hand at Tony's wrist, the other pulling up Tony's eyelid to check his pupils.

"He's got a pulse, but it's weak. His pupils are blown."

"What does that mean?" Steve asks, knowing he's talking too quietly to be heard. The deafening roar of triumphant cheering from all around them drowns out his voice entirely.

"I need to get him to the palace, to the medical wing," Strange answers him anyway, then closes the portal he came through, opening another immediately. Steve can see the bustling medical wing as the Wakandan doctors and all the other volunteers get ready for the onslaught of medical emergencies.

The battle may be over, but the aftermath is only just beginning.

Strange stands and moves toward the portal, waving one hand behind himself. Tony's prone body floats into the air and follows Strange through the portal into the palace's hospital, and Steve watches, despondent, as it closes.

Tony is in good hands, he knows. Steve has work to do.

He turns to Thor, still there, beside him. His expression is grave as he steps in front of Steve and clutches Steve's bicep in one meaty hand. "Don't worry, Captain. He is gravely injured, yes, but Stark has won the day. And I've met only one man more stubborn than he is." Thor gives him an exaggerated wink, and Steve can't help the ghost of a smile that twitches up one corner of his mouth.

"I assume you mean me?"

"Gods, no," Thor laughs, letting the sound boom through the air around them. "I mean Phillip Coulson."

And Steve allows his answering laugh to wash through him, cleansing some of his worry.

They really do have work to do.

 

+++++

 

They spend the rest of the day cleaning in the aftermath. Halfway through the cleanup, someone tells Bruce what Tony had done, and the Hulk finally makes an appearance. Steve just stares at him tiredly, then turns away and continues helping the moderately injured make their way to the secondary medical tents.

Tony had done it. He'd beat Thanos, destroyed him and all his army. But it had been a long, brutal battle up until that point. There are many dead, and many more injured. The most seriously injured had been spirited away to the Palace's hospital. Tony is there, but most of the other Avengers had made it out relatively unscathed.

Clint, Natasha, and Spider-Man had already been taken to the secondary tents already. Clint had fought tooth and nail, but Bucky himself had dragged him there. Clint had put up a hell of a fight for someone with two broken arms, actually.

Sam is limping when Steve sees him across the field, but Rhodey is there, supporting him, so Steve just waves tiredly and continues walking, searching for more injured that can't make their way to the tents under their own power.

Wanda and Vision are helping to transport people for medical attention.

T'Challa is working with a team to collect the dead.

"You should go, Steve," Natasha says from her bedroll in the med tent when he stops to check on her.

"Got nowhere else to be," he lies.

Natasha gives him a look, scrunching her face up as though he's said the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard. Her leg is propped up on a stack of pillows. The medics don't think it's broken, so she's still waiting for an X-Ray while those who definitely have broken limbs are treated first.

"You should be up there," she says, jerking her chin up toward the palace proper. "With him."

"I'm not –" he starts, but he doesn't get far.

Clint is dozing in the next bed roll, full of painkillers, and Bucky is sitting beside him, one hand resting comfortingly on Clint's thigh. Steve still can't get over how easily they seem to have fallen into the relationship they'd found in the Haven.

"If you don't go up there and see him in the next five seconds, Stevie, I swear to god I'm gonna tell everyone here about the time you threw up on Mary Lou Henderson at Coney Island, and then asked her to the dance before she'd even gotten a chance to scream, and _then_ I'm gonna go up to the hospital and I'm gonna wake Stark up so I can tell _him_."

Steve stares at him, horrified. Natasha isn't even trying to hide her laughter.

"Wow, I sure am glad I fought against the entire United Nations to keep you by my side, Buck," Steve says, deadpan.

For a moment, he almost feels like he's gone too far. He wouldn't have said that, before. Before the Haven, things had been raw and dark and strained. Everything had hurt. But the Haven, those eight months stuffed into two weeks, had been a healing balm for Steve's soul, for his relationships with his friends. Yes, it had ended abruptly, and his heart is still broken at the loss of Casey, at the loss of what he'd begun to have with Tony. But still – that had been a world of laughter, of joy, of _love_. And it had eased some of the pain of a hard life before it.

"You always were a sucker," Bucky agrees, and Steve basks in the wave of relief that Bucky hadn't been offended or hurt by the joke.

Natasha takes hold of Steve's hand and grips it, pulling it to her cheek and brushing the back of Steve's wrist against her cheek. "Go on," she whispers, eyes tracking up past his shoulder. "I'm okay here. You should be there when he wakes up."

After a moment he nods, pulls his hand back and stands. He turns and sees what she'd been looking at past him – Bruce is on his way through the med tent, checking on people as he goes but definitely headed for Natasha's bedroll.

"Thanks, Nat," he says softly. Then he takes a deep, trembling breath, and heads off toward the palace's emergency medical centre.

 

+++++

 

The medical centre is chaos. There are doctors and nurses and volunteers running around, hauling equipment, yelling across corridors. The whole place is roiling like an ocean, and Steve doesn't know where to go.

Then Vision is there, taking hold of Steve's arm, and pulling him down the hall. The sea of people parts for them, and they have a straight path to the room at the end of the hall.

It seems ridiculous that the confusion and chaos and rush out in the hall could give way to this quiet, private room at the end. The lights are dimmed, and there are no windows here. There is a white bed against one wall, surrounded by monitors and IV poles and medical equipment. The equipment is all attached to a figure in the bed – a man who is only slightly smaller than Steve in practice, but right now looks tiny. His eyes are closed. There's a ventilator making soft whooshing noises beside him, a tube down his throat. His eyelids have been taped shut, and a large patch of hair has been shaved on the side of his head. There's gauze wrapped there, but it's wrapped loosely.

"They had to perform surgery to release the pressure in his cranium," Vision says softly beside him. "The doctors aren't entirely sure what caused it, medically, only that it's a byproduct of the energy released by the Infinity Stones."

Steve feels his stomach drop, feels a coolness across the back of his neck. Tony had been in surgery. He'd nearly died, his brain had – and Steve hadn't known. He hadn't had any idea. He'd been down in the battlefield collecting the wounded, down in the triage tent to tend to his friends, and Tony had been up here. Alone and nearly dying.

"I've been trying to work some healing magic," Dr. Strange says, coming in the door behind them. "I can't tell, yet, if it's working."

"When will we know?" Steve asks, voice raw from the screaming he won't allow his body to let out.

"The first 24 hours will be critical," Strange answers. "The ideal scenario is that he will wake up within that time frame. The longer he stays unconscious, the less likely it is that he'll wake up at all."

Steve sits down, hard, in the chair beside Tony's bed. He reaches out a hand to take Tony's, and notices that his own hand is shaking like a leaf. He soldiers on, and he rests his hand over Tony's cool, dry fingers.

"He is strong," Vision says comfortingly. "He will fight, you know that."

"I do," Steve nods.

"We'll leave you to it, then," Strange says, turning and leaving the room. Vision goes with him; presumably to head back out to the field to see if there's anyone else they can help.

Steve sits in the chair, watching Tony breathe with the aid of a machine, and listening to the steady beeping noises of the heart monitor fill the room.

 

+++++

 

He doesn't sleep. Steve doesn't know how long it's been since he last slept, but he can usually get through a couple of days on fumes when he really has to. Bucky sends him a text message a few hours into his vigil, to let him know Natasha's leg isn't broken and Clint is awake, already looking to carry the injured Wakandan warriors back to their homes, two broken arms or not.

Steve texts Bucky back with an update on Tony – no news, still waiting.

He takes the opportunity to study Tony's face.

It's not the same as it had been in the Haven, and yet it is. He looks wan and tired, too still and pale, but he has the same little scar over his left eyebrow as he always has. Steve knows that if he were to wake up and smile, the smile lines would be deep, and that little dimple on his right cheek would be visible. He knows intimately the golden flecks in the deep brown of Tony's eyes, and allows himself a moment to hate the tape keeping them closed.

It feels like an eternity ago, but Steve knows it's less than 48 hours since he had gone to bed with this man. Since he had kissed him and held him and made love with him, then fallen asleep beside him in his bed.

They have been through so much, he and Tony. More than anyone can reasonably be expected to go through with a friend, and come out whole on the other side.

And yet, despite all that, Steve knows deep in his heart that the love he'd fallen into in the Haven is just as real today. Had been real before they'd gone, even. Before the Accords, before all of it, Steve had loved him. He hadn't always known it, but he does now.

And he vows, at that moment, to make sure that Tony never doubts it. From here on out, Steve can be the brave one – he can make sure Tony knows he's loved, knows what Steve's true feelings are. They have spent too long fighting to conceal themselves from one another.

Tony had fallen in love with him in the Haven, too. That's enough for Steve. It's enough to make him believe that Tony might still feel something for him now.

And as soon as Tony wakes up, Steve's going to find out.

 

+++++

 

At some point, Steve dozes in the chair beside Tony's bed. He wakes up with the realization that he's not alone in the room.

"Oh, uh, hey, Cap – Captain. Captain America. Um, hi, I'm, uh, I'm Peter." The boy sitting on the other side of Tony's bed can't be very old. 16 or 17 at most, Steve thinks.

He knows who the boy is. They haven't met officially, and Steve hasn't seen him out of his mask, but he recognizes the voice and there's only one teenage boy that would be visiting Tony Stark in a hospital room. Plus, they're in Wakanda, and there are only so many non-Wakandans here.

"Peter Parker," Steve acknowledges, standing to shake Peter's hand. "Good to meet you, son."

"It's – Wow, Sir, it's good to meet you, too. I'm real sorry about, well, taking your shield and trying to arrest you the last time we met, it was, um, I mean, Mr. Stark said you were breaking the law, so I was –"

"It's okay, Peter," Steve says, taking pity on him. He instantly understands why Tony likes this young man. He's a good kid, sharp and smart, and he talks a mile a minute.

He wonders, briefly, if Casey would have grown up to be like him, then he shuts the thought down immediately. It seems impossible, that he could have met that beautiful little boy, could have known that deep-down, unconditional love for him, and have it taken away like Casey had never existed at all.

But Steve's broken heart is proof enough.

"Is – is Mr. Stark gonna be okay?" Peter asks, and he sounds so young that Steve almost wants to gather him up into a hug, the way he would if the kid _were_ Casey.

Steve gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He answers with more confidence than he really feels. "The doctors think so. We're just waiting for him to wake up, now. Physically, he'll heal. But there's some question… because of the stones. And their power. It's not something anyone has any medical experience with."

"Do you – do you mind if I stick around? I'll stay out of your way, I won't say a word!"

"That's fine, Peter. He'd like that, I think."

Peter gives him a blinding, hopeful smile, then settles back in his chair. To Steve's surprise, he actually does stay quiet – long enough for Steve to fall back asleep.

This time, when Steve wakes, it's to high heels snapping on tile floor outside the room. The pace is clipped, accompanied by two voices. Peter is gone.

Steve knows the voices well.

"He's just at the end of the hall, Pepper, but he's still unconscious," Rhodey says, sounding breathless as he tries to keep up with her.

The door, which had been half-closed, bursts open, and Pepper Potts comes through it. She looks tired, piqued, but her eyes are bright and her strawberry blonde hair is flawless. Her nose is pink, as though she's been crying, and her lips are pressed tightly together.

Steve stands, keeping his back straight. Her eyes light around the room, barely glancing at him before they catch on Tony's prone form, his pale skin. The heart monitor is still beeping quietly in the background, and the ventilator is still gently pumping air in and out of Tony's lungs.

Her lip trembles.

"Ms. Potts," Steve says, his voice steady. He gives her a deferential nod of his head, and even as he's doing it, he realizes that he's made a seriously grave error in judgment.

Tony had told him, back when things were going off the rails with the Sokovia Accords, that he and Pepper had broken up. They hadn't talked about it before they'd gone to the Haven, and then Tony hadn't remembered Pepper had even existed for the duration of their time there.

Tony had told Steve he and Pepper weren't together anymore, but what if she still has feelings for him? What if she's realized she wants to come back to him? If anyone has a claim on Tony, surely it's Pepper?

"Steve, hello," she says, voice trembling a little, as she leans in to kiss him on the cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says. "Made it through fine. You?"

She scoffs prettily. "I've been safe in LA and New York. Tony called me before you all went to the, um, the other reality. Of course, I was in a meeting so he left me a voicemail, the bastard. Rhodey called me after you came back. To let me know what was happening, that it was about to get bad. I've been worried sick."

"Sorry about that," Steve says guiltily. "I didn't –"

"It's not your fault, Steve," she says, and her voice is soft. He knows she means more than just taking Tony to a different reality.

"He's, um, he hasn't woken up yet, but they're optimistic," Steve says, shifting uncomfortably. "Would you like to – here, sit down, please." He pulls out the chair – _his_ chair, which he's been sitting on for probably close to 24 hours – and gestures to it. She gives him a long look before she takes the chair.

"I should, um, go. Get something to eat, I guess," Steve says, even though he has little interest in food, and even less interest in leaving Tony's side. But Pepper is – well, he's not entirely sure what Pepper is to Tony, but he knows she deserves time alone with him. Steve glances at Rhodey, leaning against the door frame of the room. He doesn't look apologetic at all – in fact, he's mostly ignoring Steve and just watching Tony's unmoving face.

"It's not what you think," Pepper says softly. "We're not – we tried again, for a little while. But it wasn't right, we both knew it. He and I – we're not together."

Steve doesn't want to think about how she could have known that that was information he really needed to hear. Part of him hopes it's because Rhodey had filled her in on what had happened in the Haven, while at the same time another part is hoping she has no idea.

She smiles up at him, reaching forward to place one pale, delicate hand over Tony's wrist.

"But he's still my best friend," she tells him. "Thank you for watching over him."

Steve doesn't answer – nothing seems appropriate. He'd stayed, watching over Tony, because of a visceral need. It hadn't been a favour to her or to anyone else. It had been his own deep compulsion to see him, to be there when he, hopefully, wakes up.

"Get something to eat, maybe a shower and a real nap," Rhodey says to him as Steve leaves the room. "We'll keep an eye on him. If anything happens, I'll call you."

"Not sure I _can_ sleep properly," Steve admits, frowning.

"Give it a shot. He'll be worried about you when he wakes up, otherwise."

Steve gives Rhodey a look at the low blow, but he also knows it's true, so he resolves to make an effort.

He finds his way out of the medical wing, and finds someone to tell him where he might find food and a shower. Everyone knows who he is, so there's no hesitation – the woman gives him directions to some quarters set aside for him. She tells him someone will bring food up shortly, and gives him a small bead that, when he holds it between his thumb and forefinger, displays a blue holographic map in front of him. He gives her a tired but grateful smile, then follows the directions from the bead to find his rooms in the palace.

It's not as opulent as he would have expected, and he's grateful for it. He knows what kind of living quarters T'Challa's palace has in it, and he's glad the king had taken Steve's own preferences into account.

He showers first, and takes his time doing it. The battle had been long, and he probably should have done this earlier. He'd used a wet towel, hours ago, to get the worst of the blood and gore off of him while he'd been at Tony's bedside, and he'd stripped out of his uniform and into some sweatpants and a T-shirt that someone had brought him, but he hadn't had a true shower.

The water is hot, the pressure is perfect, and Steve stays under the spray for a long time.

Eventually, he climbs out of the stall, wraps himself in a towel and stares at himself in the mirror for a long time. He can't quite meet his own eyes.

He's got healing wounds all over his torso. His face has a few cuts and contusions, but for the most part he'd come out of the battle relatively unscathed.

Not everyone had. Some had died.

Steve feels like he's on the verge of falling apart at the thought of that. The dead, the injured. They'd won, but the cost had been high.

Before he can go too far down that path of self-loathing, there's a knock on his door.

He pulls on some clothes – it looks like these quarters had been set up for him with some of his own clothing, so he puts on a soft, long-sleeved henley and a pair of jogging pants, leaving his feet bare for the time being. He pushes his hair back off his forehead, heading for the door.

As soon as he gets close, the smell of food wafts into the room, and suddenly Steve is ravenous. He really shouldn't have waited so long to eat – he'd known his body would need to restore its strength, and that his metabolism would have burned through any previously consumed calories long ago.

He opens the door hastily, then glances up to see who's delivered it.

Bucky's there, smiling at him. It puts Steve's mind at ease almost immediately.

"Hey, Buck," he says, softly. He pulls at the rolling cart between them, hauling it into the room.

"Hey, Steve. Heard you were up here for a shower, and I told the kitchen I'd hand-deliver. How's Tony?"

Steve swallows roughly. "They don't know," he admits, pulling the dome off a large serving bowl of stew. The spicy aroma of it is enough to keep his appetite from waning at the thought of Tony's uncertain condition. Bucky pulls two dishes from the cart's interior shelf and fills them with the warm, rich stew, handing one of them and a spoon to Steve. "All we can do is wait."

"He's a tough bastard," Bucky says. "Stubborn, too."

"That, he is," Steve agrees. "How's Clint?"

"Drivin' me around the bend," Bucky says, looking mulish. "He won't stay still. Romanov and I are talking about tyin' him down, but Wilson said he'd probably just fight worse."

"Sam's got a point," Steve agrees, digging into his stew. It's delicious, and he shovels another spoonful into his mouth immediately.

"Slow down, you animal," Bucky says, though there isn't any heat in his words.

"Haven't eaten in two days," Steve says around another mouthful of stew.

"No one's fault but yours," Bucky agrees.

Bucky watches him eat in silence for a moment – and possibly with a bit of horror – before he turns away and rolls his eyes, taking a mouthful of his own stew.

They eat without speaking for a while. Once Steve has demolished one bowl of the flavourful dish, he spoons himself out another, then takes it to the sofa to eat. Bucky follows him more leisurely, sitting across from him.

"So it's weird, right?" Steve finally asks after a couple more mouthfuls.

"Stevie, buddy, you're gonna have to be a little more specific than that. You've seen our lives."

Steve flashes him a ghost of a smile. "Everything, I guess. But, if I'm being specific, I mostly mean you and Clint."

Bucky looks wary, suddenly. He leans back in his chair, resting his spoon on the side of his bowl. "How so?" he asks carefully.

"Not – it's good. For both of you, probably. I just mean… how is it? How… do you make it make sense?"

"It doesn't need any help from me," Bucky shrugs. "Makes plenty of sense on its own."

"It did in the Haven," Steve says. "Doesn't mean it makes sense here."

"Well, now, Stevie, I'd argue that's exactly what it means."

"No, it's not – you two barely even knew one another before that. So how is it that, now we're back, you guys can just pick up where you left off in the Haven? It wasn't _real_."

Bucky snorts derisively. "Every fuckin' second of that place was real, Rogers, and you know it."

"We were only there two weeks."

"We were _there_ for eight months," Bucky says. "Just because time didn't pass the same here, doesn't mean we didn't live eight months of our lives in that place."

"But they weren't _our_ lives," Steve argues.

Bucky studies him, then goes back to his stew, eating while he talks. "I'll admit you maybe weren't the same guy in there that you are here, but I think it's pretty reasonable to chalk that up to not having to worry about the end of the world all the time. It's apples and oranges. When you get right down to it, to the kind of person you are, deep inside, there wasn't enough of a difference to mean anything."

"Right, but –"

"You and I both know you're not worried about how Clint and me are gonna work now we're home," Bucky interrupts him. "This is about you and Tony, because you love him. You're worried that it's not real because the Haven wasn't real – but the things we did there? The things we went through? That's all real. It's all a real experience we had. The relationships we formed, the love you felt – that's real."

"But it's _because_ we were there," Steve says. "Now we're home, it's not the same."

Bucky snorts again, louder this time. "Sure, maybe not. But that's not gonna apply to you and Stark."

"Why not?"

"Because I saw you after Siberia, punk. I saw how torn up you were over losin' him. You and I both know you were in love with him long before the Haven."

Steve wants to argue, but there isn't anything he can say that won't sound like a lie. So he just takes another spoonful of stew and puts it in his mouth.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Bucky says.

 

+++++

 

Bucky fills him in on a few of the others before he leaves. Steve only feels a little bit guilty about how relieved he is that none of his friends – the people he's closest to – had been killed in the attack. There are people dead, and he mourns for them, but anyone he'd met before two days ago is still alive and well.

Well, mostly well. Clint has some healing ahead of him, but he's the worst off, other than Tony.

And Tony… well. There's nothing to do about Tony but wait.

Since the last time he'd slept in a bed had been that last night in the Haven with Tony, Steve can't bring himself to curl up in the bed that's waiting for him, so after Bucky leaves, he stretches out along the couch and closes his eyes. Enough time in war means he can force himself to fall asleep just about anywhere, so he falls asleep fairly quickly.

When he wakes, it's darker in the room. He's only disoriented for a moment, then he glances at the time on his phone screen. It's evening, he's been asleep for a few hours. He doesn't have any messages, though, so Tony must still be unconscious.

He gets up and goes to the refrigerator, finding himself a few bottles of water. He drains one immediately, then takes the other and sips at it while he leans against the counter and thinks.

He's loathe to admit it, as always, but Bucky had been right. Steve's feelings for Tony go deep – from before the Haven, before the Sokovia Accords.

His initial plan, to tell Tony about his feelings as soon as he wakes, had been the right one. He just has to hope he'll get the chance.

 

+++++

 

Steve makes his way back to the medical centre and finds Tony's room. Rhodey and Pepper are gone, but Natasha and Thor are there instead. Thor glances up when Steve comes in, but Natasha doesn't move – Steve can tell by the set of her shoulders that she knows he's there, though.

Thor gives him a brilliant smile, looking eons younger.

It's then that Steve notices the ventilator is gone. Tony's eyes are still closed, though.

"Is he…?"

"He's breathing on his own," Natasha says. "Dr. Strange said that's a very good sign."

"Yes, I think he will recover swiftly," Thor agrees.

Steve's knees nearly buckle with relief.

 

+++++

 

Apparently Steve's understanding of 'swiftly' is not the same as Thor's, because two days later, Tony is still unconscious. He's got an IV in for nutrition and hydration, but other than that he's not really hooked up to any other life-saving machines. Monitors ensure that his blood pressure and heart rate remain steady, but Tony is the one keeping himself alive now.

It's the only comfort Steve can take in the fact that Tony is still here, in the bed, not waking up.

At least Tony isn't lacking in visitors. Some of them come to drag Steve out of the room for food and hygiene and sleep. Some of them come to watch Tony sleep while sitting in silence with Steve.

Sam's the next one in to try and drag Steve away, but Pepper had been there only a few hours ago, so Steve's eaten and slept already. Sam sits in the chair on the other side of Tony's bed, sprawling loosely, and then stares at Steve.

Steve does his best to ignore the look, but he can only last so long in the face of Sam's 'Talk To Me' glare.

"I already ate and slept," Steve tells him, not looking up from Tony's still face.

"I'm pretty sure we went over a few necessities of self-care when we were in the Haven," Sam tells him. "And there was more to the list than food and sleep."

Steve glances at him. "We're not in the Haven anymore."

Sam sighs, lets his head fall back, and stares at the ceiling. "Why is it so hard to get you to understand that the Haven was a real experience? It wasn't some fever dream, Cap. We went there, we lived there. Yeah, we're back here now, but that doesn't erase it."

"I know that," Steve protests. "I do, honest. I just… I can't leave."

Sam stares at him a long while.

"You've lost a lot, recently," Sam says quietly. It's not a question, exactly, so he doesn't wait for an answer. "Both of you have. Casey – he wasn't real, not really, but he kind of was. Strange took all the good parts from Vision and Tony and made a child out of it. And that kid… man, that kid was amazing. Funny, and curious, and smart, and so kind."

Steve feels his whole body tense up, feels the back of his throat tighten and burn. He swallows hard.

"You're allowed to mourn that kid," Sam tells him, sitting up and leaning forward. "And when Tony wakes up, he's gonna mourn that kid, too."

"I know," Steve whispers.

"But you have to remember that you'll still have a life to live. Casey isn't here anymore, but you are. Tony is."

"I know," Steve says, a little louder.

"So what I'm saying is that if you want to have a hope in hell of making something work with Tony, you're going to have to get through that _together_."

Steve's eyes jerk up from Tony's sleeping face, gaze meeting Sam's.

"It's not fair, I know. But you're gonna have to be the one that props him up for a bit. He's gonna fight you – tooth and nail – but as much as you loved that little boy, for Tony that kid was _everything_."

Steve thinks back to the conversation he and Tony had had that night in Syracuse, in the hotel by the side of the road. When Tony had told him about Rumiko, about how important to him Casey was, how he was the only thing in Tony's world for a long time.

Sam's probably right. Steve wants him to be wrong, but as much as Steve thinks he's come to the right decision about telling Tony how he feels, there are other priorities when Tony wakes up. Laying the burden of his feelings on Tony's shoulders isn't fair to him, not when he's already reeling from the loss of Casey. And Steve knows that, as much pain as he's feeling about that loss, Tony's is exponentially worse.

Steve needs to be there for him. To help shore him up against that loss. And as much as it breaks Steve's heart, any kind of relationship will have to wait.

He knows that Sam sees the truth on his face, because Sam gives him a sad, sympathetic smile. "Yeah. I'm sorry, man. It's not fair."

"It never is," Steve says. They don't talk for a while, and then Sam gets up and leaves the room, squeezing Steve's shoulder as he goes.

 

+++++

 

On the fifth day, Steve is reading news reports on his phone when he feels an almost imperceptible shift in the air of the room. He suddenly gets the feeling that he's not alone here, and the first place he looks is the door. No one's come in, and that realization makes Steve whip his gaze back to Tony's face.

Tony is blinking up at him. His face is drawn, gaunt, and his eyes aren't bright and alert, but he's making eye contact with Steve and Steve can tell he's lucid.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning forward and wrapping both his hands over one of Tony's. His hands feel huge and clumsy, dwarfing Tony's like this, but the contact with Tony's warm, dry skin is a balm. "Hey, welcome back."

Steve sees the questions warring in Tony's face as he tries to decide what to ask first. He must want to know so much – _Did it work? Did they beat Thanos? Is everyone okay?_

"How long was I out?" he settles on.

"Few days," Steve says, giving him a gentle smile. "Almost a week. But you saved the world, Tony. The whole universe."

"Oh," Tony says. Like he's not sure what Steve means. Like the praise makes him uncomfortable. "Is everyone else…?"

"We're okay. You were the worst. There are some injuries, but yours was… the worst."

"How long have you been here?"

Steve studies him for a long moment, and then he can't help the tear that rolls down his cheek, settling into the hair of his beard. "A while," he says, then thinks better of it. The least he can do for Tony right now is be completely honest with him, no matter how vulnerable it makes him. "The whole time, actually."

Tony shifts, pulls his hand away from Steve's and starts moving, trying to – he's trying to push himself up into a sitting position and Steve reaches out to stop him, fumbling with the controls on the bed at the same time so he can use the hydraulics to elevate Tony's head. "Sweetheart, stop, you shouldn't – you need to rest, don't try to get up –"

Tony stops suddenly, still, breathing hard. Steve realizes what he's said, wants to smack himself. He'd decided he wouldn't push Tony, would be here to help him and not pressure him, and within two minutes of the man being conscious, he's already broken his own promise.

"You called me sweetheart."

"I'm sorry, Tony, I shouldn't have –"

"I don't mind."

Steve stares at him for a long moment, and Tony stares back.

"You've been – we've all been through a lot," Steve starts, trying to find a way to backtrack without making Tony feel as though Steve doesn't want him. "I don't want to – to put any pressure on you. You shouldn't have to think about that, about me, right now."

"Yeah," Tony agrees, reaching out his hand and lacing his fingers with Steve's. His voice is rough, dry. Steve should get him some water, but he's frozen in place, pinned by Tony's intense gaze. "Yeah, we _have been through a lot_. Good thing we've got each other to get through it."

Then he smiles. It's still tinged with sadness, but it's real. His teeth gleam in the low light of the hospital room, and his eyes are bright and hopeful.

"Yeah," Steve breathes, heart racing. "Good thing."

He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Tony's lips.

Tony allows it, but it's brief. Then he pulls away again, eyes narrowing.

"Before we go any further with this, I need to know something very, very important," Tony says.

Steve blinks, heart sinking. "Anything you want, Tony."

Tony tilts his head slightly to the side. "Do you still know how to make a good cup of coffee? I feel like this might be a dealbreaker in our relationship."

Steve laughs, relief and joy and love filling him, and leans down to kiss Tony again. This time, Tony kisses him back with his whole heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4905/31101925227_a5439ac66b_b.jpg).


	17. Chapter 17

**CODA**

He smells it, first. The heavenly scent of coffee in the air, reaching him through the heavy down blankets he's piled under.

He burrows deeper into the soft mattress – yes, he wants the coffee, but _more_ than that he wants the _sleep_.

"Go 'way," he slurs into his pillow. "Sleepin'."

"Up and at 'em, Iron Man,"

"No, I'm retiring today, let me sleep."

"You're not _retiring_ ," Steve says, and Tony can practically hear him rolling his eyes. "You're just being lazy."

"Don't call me names, I'm too tired to argue."

"Don't say that or I'll _really_ start to worry," Steve tells him, and Tony can hear the laughter in his voice. "I brought you a cup of coffee."

"I can smell it, it's not strong enough."

"You can't tell that from the smell," Steve says, and there's just enough doubt in his voice to pull a smile out of Tony.

"Can, too."

"I also brought you a cannoli."

Tony pulls the blankets off his face, but he doesn't sit up. "Did Clint make them?"

"The last time I asked Clint to make us cannolis he told me that not only is he not our personal baked goods chef, he has never made cannolis in 'real life', and the next time I asked he would be shoving Bucky's metal arm somewhere that would change my pitch when I tried to sing the Star-Spangled Man."

"That's very descriptive."

"So they're from the bakery."

Tony drags himself into a seated position. "Fine. Fine, I'm up. Gimme coffee."

Steve indulgently passes the mug to Tony – handle first – while Tony blinks sleepily at him. Tony brings it to his face, and takes a moment to inhale deeply, letting the smell of it permeate his being. He takes a slow sip – and yes, Steve does still make a mean cup of coffee.

"Now gimme sugar," Tony says, and Steve dutifully leans forward and pecks his lips with a kiss. He pulls back, grinning, and hands Tony the cannoli.

While Tony takes small sips of his coffee and nibbles at the sweet cannoli, Steve slips back under the covers on his side of the bed, picking up his tablet and his own cup of coffee from the bedside table.

He's still got bruises and cuts on his face from their run in with Ares (because of course, yes, let's have more gods come to earth hell bent on destruction), but he's healing well. They sit together in silence while Tony eats his cannoli and Steve browse's the day's news.

"Hmm, they've ordered more recounts in Florida," Steve says, scrolling.

Tony swallows his last mouthful of cannoli and takes a gulp of coffee. He would savour it, but he caught sight of the French press on Steve's night stand and he knows there's more where this came from.

"Yeah, what is that, eight elections in a row?"

"There's a report about eggs being bad for you again," Steve says.

"Give them a year, they'll go back on it," Tony says.

Without needing to be asked, Steve puts his own coffee down, picks up the French press, and pours coffee into Tony's outstretched mug. Tony leans over and kisses Steve's shoulder, snuggling back into the pillows and pushing his toes up against Steve's ankle.

"The orphanage on 43rd Street is at full capacity after the thing with Ares," Steve says, his tone suddenly somber. "They're having to shuttle a couple of kids out of the city."

Tony freezes. "That's too bad. Would it help if the Maria Stark Foundation made a donation?"

"The money isn't the issue this time, I guess. It's the space."

Tony doesn't say anything – what _can_ he say to that?

"Lotta kids in this city could stand to be shown some love," Steve sighs. "Must be real hard for them."

"Guess there just aren't enough people out there looking to adopt," Tony says carefully.

"How long have we been together, Tony?"

The change in track throws Tony for a moment, but he doesn't hesitate to answer. "Three years since Thanos."

"Right," Steve says. "It's been really good, right?"

"I… yes?" Because of course it'd been good. Steve is probably the best thing to happen to Tony. And if last night is any indication, the spark is nowhere near the vicinity of being in danger of dying.

"I love you more than anything," Steve says, looking right into Tony's eyes. Tony tries to look away, but he can't manage it. "And you love me, too."

"You know I do," Tony says.

"So maybe it's time we thought about… sharing that love. With someone who could stand to see a little bit of that."

Tony blinks at him. "That's a great idea!" he says, and Steve beams at him. "You could go down there in uniform, boost some spirits. Hell, we could all go. I could start a separate foundation, maybe – MSF is more about relief efforts but something for orphans specifically might be nice."

Steve stares. "I was actually thinking along the lines of one particular child that could use some spirit-boosting, Tony. Maybe by being added to our family."

The air rushes out of his lungs and his stomach drops. "Absolutely not."

"I knew you were going to say that," Steve says.

"And yet you made me say it anyway," Tony says, putting his coffee down on his own nightstand. "Steve, _no_."

"Give me one good reason."

"You _know_ all the reasons. We'd be – _I'd_ be terrible at it!"

"You'd be amazing at it."

"Look, I know you like to think the best of me but, Steve, I'd be a terrible father and you know it!"

"I've _seen_ you be a parent, Tony. For _months_ in the Haven, I saw you with Casey. God, watching you with him? The way you interacted with him? Every day I fell more and more in love with you – watching you with Casey made me want something I never realized I'd wanted. Never thought I had any business wanting."

"Casey wasn't _real_ ," Tony says, and his voice shakes even though he knows it's true. "I was only like that with him because of Strange's magic whammy, remember? To protect the mind stone!"

"You've accepted that everything else about Haven was real, but you still refuse to accept that Casey was real. Besides, Strange made the mind stone a child because he knew you would love him, and protect him." Steve reaches over and cups his face, running a thumb across his cheek. Somehow, Tony manages to keep himself from looking away.

"But the way you loved him?" Steve continues. "That was all you. And that's what I want to see again."

"But I lost him," Tony whispers, the corners of his eyes growing damp, even after all this time.

"You loved him," Steve repeats. "You loved him, and you protected him, and you didn't lose him. He was taken from you. Everything in the Haven was taken from us. But that's all the more reason to grab hold of something that would make us happy now."

They had talked about it before, at least a little. How they'd fallen in love with each other in the Haven, how Steve had started to consider futures that he'd given up on, how even in reality he'd given up on hoping for what they had now between them. Tony had never stopped to consider that Steve might, after all that, still want a child.

But it's never that simple.

"Our lives are insane," Tony protests. "We can't have babies."

"Our lives _are_ insane," Steve agrees. "And they aren't likely to get any less insane whether we have a kid of not. But, imagine how good it would be, too. We could do that. We could make it work. Everything we've done together, as many times as we have saved the world, we can handle fitting a child into our lives. And, we won't be alone, either. We have the others — our family. It's not like we're in this alone."

"You're insane," Tony tells him.

"And I'm right."

He _is_ right. Tony can feel it in his bones, down to his very core, just how right everything Steve is saying is. He _wants_ this, so much so that it aches. And with Steve — maybe Steve believing in him will be enough on the days that he can't believe in himself.

"Aren't you scared?" Tony asks him quietly, dropping his head to Steve's shoulder.

Steve's fingers trace soft lines along his shoulder, anchoring him, and comforting him. "Of course I am," Steve agrees. "But it doesn't make me want this any less. I want to be a parent with you, Tony. I want to give us that."

Tony curls himself up against Steve and thinks of a bright eyed boy, face pressed against the glass of a cookie display. He thinks about the drawings stuck to a fridge, and an excited little voice telling him all about art that Steve helped him with. He thinks about the three of them together, tucking Casey in and sitting with him, watching him, the night that he was taken. And he thinks about what they never had the chance to experience — movie nights with popcorn and blankets, Casey snuggled between them. Saturday mornings with waffles, and afternoons in the park. He thinks about what that would be like, not with Casey, but with another bright eyed child who's right now sitting, lost and alone, desperate for a place to belong and people to love them. The idea of it warms his heart, makes his chest ache in the best possible way.

"Yeah," Tony says, feeling some of the trepidation melt away, as if Steve's solid, reassuring presence can disperse it all. "Okay. Let's do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see this chapter’s illustration by acachette, [ CLICK HERE](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4918/31101925027_fc91a2dca5_b.jpg).

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, if you haven’t already gone to see acachette’s beautiful art, you can now go look at all the pieces in their entirety without being spoiled for the fic. [CLICK HERE NOW TO DO THAT.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761130)
> 
> There’s a reason we decided to name Tony’s son ‘Casey’:  
> Casey (given name): derived from the Irish Gaelic _cathasaigh_ , meaning _vigilant_ or _watchful_  
>  This was the closest we could get to ‘Vision’ while still an American-style name. We really do hope at least one person caught that little easter egg on the way through, but it took us ages of poring through baby name and name meaning websites so we wouldn’t be surprised if it’s just clicking for you now. Like, who knows the meaning of Casey off the top of their head?


End file.
